


We're Not in Genovia Anymore

by AliceLiddle



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baz is soft because I love him and he loves Simon, Fluff, M/M, Minor Simon/Agatha (if you've seen the Princess Diaries 2 then you know they're not the main ship), Princess Diaries AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceLiddle/pseuds/AliceLiddle
Summary: 1.	Watford is a country in Europe2.	I’m the missing Prince of Watford3.	Watford has been experiencing political upheaval for almost two decades now because no one could find me, and apparently they didn’t want to pick a new family to rule, just in case there was still a surviving heir (me) somewhere in the world.4.	I really don’t know anything about how governments work.5.	There’s a family called the Grimm-Pitches who want to take over the throne.6.	The Grimm-Pitch family hates me....10.	I am not prepared to lead a nation.or, the Princess Diaries 2 AU that almost no one asked for!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 38
Kudos: 102





	1. The Marriage Law

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading this totally self-indulgent AU! A few months ago I saw a prompt from [@numptypitch](https://numptypitch.tumblr.com/) and I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I finally typed it up to post!
> 
> You do not need to have watched The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement for this story to make sense, but if you have seen the movie then you'll probably recognize some of my favorite bits of dialogue. I did rearrange a few scenes, so it doesn't follow the movie exactly.
> 
> This fic has not been beta'd, so please feel free to reach out if you notice anything that should be fixed! And if you want to say hi, I'm on tumblr as [@waywardfangirl](https://waywardfangirl.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...so Parliament voted that if you resurfaced before your 21st birthday and married someone from an established family in Watford, then you could take the throne. However, if you didn’t come back, or you wouldn’t marry, then the throne would pass to the next family in line.”

**Simon**

I don’t remember my mother. I know, that sounds like a really sad thing, and I guess it is, but it’s not like I have anything to compare it to. My mom died when I was really young, and so I can’t compare not having a mother to whatever life was like with one, so I just don’t think about it that much. And besides, things were always fine.

I mean, maybe things weren’t _great_ , but everything was fine for me growing up. I lived all over as a kid, moving cities every now and then when my dad said we had to. Everyone called him “The Mage”, because he did magic tricks on the streets for money (at least, I thought that’s what he was doing. The last year or so has really made me question what was actually going on…), but sometimes he would tell me that we had to go live somewhere else, because everyone in our city was getting too close to figuring out his tricks. (Maybe he meant that, just in a different way.) And sure, I spent some time in children’s care homes when he couldn’t make ends meet, and I spent a few months in the foster system too when he disappeared for three weeks and I accidentally mentioned to someone at school that I hadn’t seen my dad recently, but he always came and got me eventually, and I didn’t have anything else to compare my life to. Logically, I guess I knew that other people had homes they lived in for their whole lives, and that some people had fancy, well-paying jobs, but those sorts of things never seemed real to me. They still don’t, sometimes.

Now though, I can compare. And I realize how shitty my childhood actually was. Because shortly after turning eighteen I got into a fight outside of a bar with some guys who were trying mug us, and after the police picked me up and stuck me in a holding cell all of these really fancy lawyers and diplomats showed up the next morning, telling me that I was being released and they had to tell me something. Somehow, in my 18 years of life, no one had ever bothered to tell me I was actually a real-life, honest to goodness _prince_.

Apparently, when my mom (the _Queen_ ) died, a lot of people thought that my father had had something to do with it. I still don’t know if he did or not, but I don’t think about that, just in case. Everyone says that in the middle of the investigation, he just vanished, running away in the dead of night and taking me with him. I guess that’s why he kept moving us around America, and I guess that’s why I never knew my last name was Salisbury, not Snow, until the fingerprints the police put in the system set off an international alarm. After that, I learned a bunch of things that I didn’t know. For example:

  1. Watford is a country in Europe
  2. I’m the missing Prince of Watford
  3. Watford has been experiencing political upheaval for almost two decades now because no one could find me, and apparently they didn’t want to pick a new family to rule, just in case there was still a surviving heir (me) somewhere in the world.
  4. I really don’t know anything about how governments work.
  5. There’s a family called the Grimm-Pitches who want to take over the throne.
  6. The Grimm-Pitch family hates me.
  7. My father is implicated in the murder of Natasha Grimm-Pitch, former Prime Minister of Watford, who took over running the country after my mom died.
  8. A woman named Mitali Bunce is running the country now (kind of – there’s still Parliament and other government stuff too, but she’s the one who everyone sees and talks about, and she definitely runs my life).
  9. Her daughter is the most intense and fierce person I’ve ever met, and she’s also my best friend.
  10. I am not prepared to lead a nation.



When Prime Minister Bunce sat me down in fanciest room I had ever been in and explained to me right there in the Watford Consulate in New York City that I was the rightful heir to the Watford throne, I thought that she was joking. I was sure that there was a hidden camera crew about to jump out and laugh at me. But after a few hours of what was pretty much just a very personal history lesson, I started to believe her. She even showed me pictures of my mother, and although I had never seen her before, it was the pictures of my mom that made me believe Prime Minister Bunce more than anything else. But then Prime Minister Bunce started talking about what my life would be like in Watford, and I learned something else I didn’t know.

  1. I’m rich.



I’m absolutely filthy rich. She told me that there were trust funds and bank accounts and a whole host of other riches waiting for me in Watford, and that was all I needed to make my decision. After all, if that money really was there, even if this was a prank, I’d still get to live like royalty for a little while, and that seemed like a good deal to me.

It doesn’t seem like a prank anymore. I mean, sometimes it all still seems fake, but I don’t think anyone’s going to jump out and take it all away. They put in too much work for that. I spent the last two years trying to learn all of the history, politics, languages, and manners that I was never taught, and anyone involved in that struggle could tell you that nothing, especially not a prank, is worth that much pain. If I’d been raised in Watford it probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but after eighteen years of living on the streets off and on, I wasn’t showing any signs of my royal blood, and I certainly didn’t naturally take on any of the dignity my tutors wanted for me.

Luckily, Penelope helped me. Penelope is Prime Minister Bunce’s oldest daughter, and she is a force to be reckoned with. The first time I met her, I thought I was going to hate having to interact with her.

“Simon, this is my daughter, Penelope.”

“Nice to meet you, Penelope. Do you go by Penny? Or Pen?”

“No. Penelope.”

That was the only answer I got from Prime Minister Bunce, who had talked over her daughter’s attempt at conversation. The second Prime Minister Bunce left the room though, all my worries were put to rest.

“You can call me Penny, or Pen, or pretty much anything else you want, just don’t call me Penelope unless you absolutely have to. Mum insists upon it because she’s stressed about everything right now, and wants to make sure that we all show a proper, and therefore very formal, face to the world. But really, if we’re going to be friends, you should be able to call me by a reasonable name, honestly.”

I’d never met someone so sure of themselves as Penny. “We’re friends, then?”

“Well, I’d hope so! After all, you’re going to be the highest-ranking person in our government – _heaven help us all_ – and my mum is the most _powerful_ person in the government, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. It’ll be much better for us to be friends than enemies. Besides, you’re going to need all the help you can get catching up on a lifetime of royalty lessons, and since I’ve gotten top marks in every class I’ve ever taken, there’s truly no one better suited to help you!”

I think I just gaped at her for a few seconds before asking, “Royalty lessons? Is that really a class offered here?” I couldn’t imagine what sort of high school would offer that kind of class.

Penny laughed. “No, dummy! But it’s a lot faster to say “Royalty Lessons” than to list out everything you’ll have to learn. Now come on, I want to show you the secret passage I use to spy on Parliament.”

That secret passage is where we are right now. I still don’t understand everything that happens in these more informal parliamentary sessions, but at least I know the names of almost everyone in the room. Penny is crouched beside me, taking notes on everything that’s happening. I get to sit in on the meetings sometimes, and she’s dead jealous of that. She wants to follow in her mother’s footsteps someday, no surprises there, and can’t wait until the day she can tell everyone in the room what she thinks.

In the room below us, Malcolm Grimm is recognized and stands up to speak.

“Before we allow plans for the coronation of Simon Snow Salisbury to proceed any further, I believe we should take into account Bill 619. I’m sure all of you remember its passing almost two decades ago – some of you in this room even passed it with loudly voiced support for how it would keep my family out of power. However, I supported Bill 619 because I was aware just how useful it would be in ensuring that power was kept in the hands of the worthy. I do not wish to see this nation handed over to someone who is not a part of our world, and therefore, I insist upon meeting Prince Salisbury’s new bride before his coronation.”

The other members of Parliament begin shouting, as Penny and I voice our sentiments even less eloquently.

“Fucking- What-?”

“Oh fuck me!”

“Penny, what’s he talking about? What’s Bill Six-whatever?”

Penny fixes me with one of the most sympathetic looks I’ve ever seen her give. It fills me with dread. Penny is not a terribly sympathetic person.

“It’s a marriage law. It was passed when we were kids, everyone wanted to make sure that there was a reasonable solution to the succession crisis that Watford was facing-“

“Because I had disappeared?”

“Right. And so Parliament voted that if you resurfaced before your 21st birthday and married someone from an established family in Watford, then you could take the throne. However, if you didn’t come back, or you wouldn’t marry, then the throne would pass to the next family in line.”

“I thought there wasn’t another family in line! Isn’t that what succession crisis means?”

Penelope just sighs and shakes her head.

“At the time the law was passed, the Petty Family was next in line, and then the Staintons.”  
This doesn’t make any sense.

“Why bother with passing the law then? Why not just hand the throne to one of them?”

“Everyone thought that they could find you! You’d only been missing for a few years, and no one wanted to move the throne away from the royal family unless they had to. But then, after the law was passed, the Staintons and Pettys fell out of line. A few went missing, one turned up dead, one was stripped of his title, one stepped down, and now no one is quite certain who the crown would go to, if not you.”

“Malcolm Grimm seems certain. He wants it for himself.”

Penelope says I fixate on the Grimm-Pitches too much. I argue that’s just what happens when a group of people has made every effort to take away everything you never thought you’d get, even though they’ve had it their whole lives, but she says I have to be more civil to them if I’m going to be a just leader.

“Of course he wants power, Simon, everyone in that room does! But he’s not going to get it just because it’s what he wants. If Parliament doesn’t repeal the Bill, which they still can, by the way, then it will be up to Parliament to figure out who the throne should go to. Even though he’s one of the top contenders for the crown that does not mean he will get it!”

“I bet it was the Grimm-Pitches who killed that one heir.”

“What?” Penny’s smart, but it’s clear she hasn’t quite followed my line of thinking this time.

“You said one of the potential monarchs was found dead. I bet Malcolm was behind it.”

“Simon!” Penny’s voice explodes in a squeak before we both remember where we are and check through the peephole to make sure our hiding place hasn’t been discovered. “You can’t just accuse a member of Parliament of murder simply because you don’t like them! There is absolutely no evidence whatsoever tying the Grimm-Pitches to that crime!” she hisses.

I shrug. I still think he probably had something to do with it.

“Besides,” Penny continues, “We should really be focusing on the much more pressing matter at hand – if Parliament doesn’t repeal this Bill, you’re going to have to find someone to marry in the next six months, or you’ll lose the throne. Is there anyone you fancy?”


	2. The Future Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought that it might be more exciting, meeting the person who I’m going to marry."

**Penny**

I can’t believe Parliament didn’t even take an official vote. They just decided to uphold Bill 619, and now Simon is being subjected to a slideshow of eligible women. It’s completely disgusting and sexist – each slide is a heavily posed and edited glamour shot of the woman in question, with two or three small bullet-point facts about her to the side. This isn’t how you find love! This isn’t even how you find companionship! Simon is taking it all in stride though, seeming content to look at pictures of pretty women and decide which ones he wants to meet. I have my laptop open beside him, trying to research each candidate a little more, and I’ve been telling him all of the things the slideshow isn’t.

“Eliza Janesom – look Penny, she has a dog!”

“She also got her master’s in psychology, and is working on a doctorate at-

“Lily Peters. It says she likes skiing – d’you think I’d be any good at skiing, Pen?”

“I’m sure we could get you lessons, Simon. Did you know she also volunteers with humanitarian relief efforts like-“

“Trixie Meyers – she’s cute!”

“Her girlfriend thinks so too.”

“Right on.”

I can’t take another slide, and I think I might just scream if I see another sorority mentioned (not that there’s anything wrong with sororities, I just don’t think that’s the most important thing to consider when choosing a spouse). But finally, Simon seems to find someone that he actually wants to meet.

“Agatha Wellbelove. She looks nice.”

“Her father is a well-respected doctor who chose to continue helping people in need for free once he married her mother. I guess it’s her mom’s side that has the titles, but they seem like a good family.”

My mother wanders into the room at that moment, glances at the screen, and says she’ll set up an appointment. Poof, just like that, the magic of true love can begin. I still might scream.

**Baz**

I’m not eavesdropping. The term ‘eavesdropping’ has a negative connotation not befitting someone of my class and standing. I’m simply listening carefully to a conversation I’m not yet a part of. But I will be. Part of the conversation, that is. They’ll be inviting me in soon, because they’re going to ask for my help.

My father returned home about an hour ago with some of his fellow party members, and they’ve been talking in the library ever since. From what I’ve heard, Simon Snow Salisbury (what a ridiculous name, truly, what were his parents _thinking_?) has until his 21st birthday (and subsequent coronation) to get married, or else he forfeits the throne. My father has been pushing a plan that will allow everything to seem normal, while our family drives any potential suitor away from the king-to-be. I know I’m about to be called in to join the meeting, because it has just been decided that I’ll be the one luring the potential suitors away.

It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, in fact it shouldn’t be hard to pull off at all, except for one small problem: I don’t want to do it.

It’s not that I don’t want to help my family, or that I don’t want to be king one day, or that I don’t agree with my father. I do want to help my family, I do want to help rule Watford, and in this specific instance I do agree with my father, but something else overrides all of that completely.

I’m in love with the crown prince.

So no, I do not want to seduce any of his potential suitors away from him, because I would much rather just seduce him instead. Unfortunately, he hates me, and my entire family, so that won’t be happening any time soon. Instead, my father will call me into the library, I’ll agree to be part of this new plot, and I’ll spend the next six months feeling miserable in every sense of the word. _Splendid._

**Simon**

I thought that it might be more exciting, meeting the person who I’m going to marry. I thought that our eyes would meet for the first time, and there would be a spark, or a click, or just something to tell me that I’d made the right choice. But it didn’t happen like that. Instead, Agatha arrived at the palace, and was brought into the throne room where I was waiting with far too many other people for the event to be even vaguely romantic. When she walked in I knew immediately that she was far more prepared to be a monarch than I was; she had good posture, a sort of detached air of confidence without seeming _too_ snobby or stuck up, and she just looked like someone who would be a princess. Yet when she made eye contact with me and smiled as she dropped into the tiniest of curtsies, I couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed in the realization that this was what true love was going to be like.

I don’t mean to sound like I don’t like her, or like I was judging her harshly. It’s been lovely getting to know Agatha over the last couple of months, but honestly, I feel like lovely is the only thing I can say about our courtship. We started out seeing each other every few days, and now we spend almost as much time together as Penny and I do, but I’m still not sure if I’m actually in love with her. I guess that’s what happens when you’re royalty though – you fall in love after saving the country from collapse or something once you’ve been in power and officially coronated for a few years. That’s what I’m hoping for at least. Something a little better than ‘lovely’, waiting for us in the future.


	3. The Horse Show (The Fountain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, at your service.”

**Penny**

“Si, why are we going to another horse show?”

He’s been pacing around his closet, pulling out shirt after shirt for almost twenty minutes now, and is absolutely unwilling to ask anyone else for help. His hair is a mess, and I genuinely think his life span might get shorter every time he has to go to one of these events.

“Because Agatha likes horses, and so I’m trying to like them too!”

“Why can’t you just find a shared interest and work on building a relationship around that, instead of trying to understand something you’re clearly not passionate about?” I think that seems like the most reasonable suggestion, although unfortunately Simon and Agatha don’t have many (any?) shared interests. The look on Simon’s face tells me that he is painfully aware of that fact.

“Once I understand the horse stuff, then that will be a shared interest. Besides, I have to ride a horse for that parade-ceremony thing next week, so maybe this will help me get used to them a little more.”

His optimism is endearing, it truly is, but I don’t want to go to another equine event for the rest of my life. Simon has at least made an attempt to learn something about horses, but for once I don’t share his enthusiasm for learning.

“You could skip the show and practice riding on your own instead. It would probably be more effective than just looking at horses. Less boring, too.”

Simon chucks a balled-up shirt into the corner and whirls on me. “I know that you don’t like Agatha, and that’s fine! I mean, it’s not _fine_ , I want the two of you to get along and be friends, but we can sort that out later. Right now, I just need to get to know her well enough to marry her in the next four months, and I would really appreciate it if you could just get over whatever petty spat the two of you seem to have and try to support me in this!”

He doesn’t usually get quite so frustrated with me. I suspect Simon’s life before Watford was far rougher than he lets on, I’ve seen the scars on his knuckles. But usually he yells about other people, not at them, and hardly ever at me. He must be more upset than I realized.

“Oh, Simon, I don’t hate Agatha. And you know that I’ll support you through anything.” Even if it’s ridiculously stupid. “I just want to make sure that you’re happy, and you’ve been so stressed out about everything to do with horses recently that I just wanted you to give yourself a break.” He seems to be deflating as I speak, clearly already regretting his outburst. Our friendship works because I’m not afraid to let him know when he’s made a mistake, but I would never rake him over the coals for something either. He can’t just yell at me, but he also shouldn’t be placed under this much stress. “I want to be friends with Agatha too, but I know personally that she and I get along much better when we’re at least fifty meters away from any and all horses.”

Simon smiles a little at that. “I’m sorry Penny, I know- I mean, you’ve been great. Really. Thanks. For not just ditching me. Us. And for trying to get to know her. She really is nice, and I think you guys will probably be really good friends some day. But, uh, you don’t have to come to the event today. You hate them more than I do, and you’re not trying to impress anyone, so you should enjoy your afternoon.”

Simon might just be the best person in the universe.

**Simon**

It was a mistake, to tell Penny she didn’t have to come. I mean, I still want her to be happy and to not have to do things she hates, but if she were here then I could complain to her about everything that’s going on right now instead of just sitting here feeling like I’ll explode if I have to endure another moment of this.

It all started a few minutes before the show, right after we’d taken our seats and begun to look around at the crowd. Agatha and I had already had our official publicity photos taken at the gates, and so we had a few minutes to relax. I was trying to decide what I wanted to eat (the food is the best part of these events), and she was discreetly trying to see if anyone else important was in the stands.

I’ve been making the high society rounds even since Prime Minister Bunce declared that I was civilized enough to, but I still don’t recognize nearly as many people as I should. Agatha knows almost everyone though, since her mother foisted her love of being a socialite upon her daughter from an early age.

“Oh!” Agatha had suddenly tightened her grip on my hand, dragging my attention away from the menu in our box. “Look Simon, Tyrannus is here!”

I craned my neck around, trying to see who exactly Agatha was looking at, following the subtle nod of her head towards a man with dark hair and the most elegant suit I’d ever seen (and I’m a prince, with a closet the size of an entire flat, so that’s really saying something). I didn’t recognize the name when she’d said it, but it figures someone like him would be called Tyrannus. He was unmistakably a Grimm-Pitch.

Completely ignoring the nasty politics between the Grimm-Pitches and myself, Agatha continued on. “I didn’t know he liked horses! I’ve spoken with his stepmother, Daphne, about riding, but she never mentioned that he also enjoyed the sport. Maybe the three of us could go for a ride sometime, once you’ve put in a little more practice!”

I could not believe her willingness to overlook all manner of political bad blood just because someone might like the same animal as her. I protested her suggestions to arrange an outing with him _(_ _“I don’t want to! I mean he’s rude, he’s arrogant, he’s self-centered –“ “Have you met him?” “Pfft. … No. But I mean, he probably is.”_ ), and yet, as the event dragged on, I noticed her eyes periodically flicking over to look at Tyrannus, and a few times I even saw him look back. He didn’t acknowledge us in any formal way though, he just leveled us with an icy stare each time. What a prat.

Luckily, the event ended before I had the chance to say something that I would regret, but unluckily there was still a reception we were expected to attend afterwards. Normally I wouldn’t complain; receptions of this sort are held under tents in gardens, and that means there will be plenty of sandwiches provided on the refreshments table. Today I just want to leave though. I don’t want to try and stutter out some small talk about _dressage_ or whatever the fuck we’ve just watched, and I don’t want to risk upsetting Agatha by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person.

I’m so relieved when Agatha suggests taking a walk through the garden. I guess I wasn’t masking my frustration with the day as well as I thought, but at least I’m going to be marrying someone who understands when I need to just get away. That’s good, isn’t it? Unfortunately, we’re not the only ones who had the idea to wander through the gardens, and we quickly run into another couple.

Well, more accurately _I_ run into another couple, as we come around a blind corner of hedges and I walk right into someone coming the opposite direction, stepping on his foot.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see you!” I’m spitting out the words before I even look up to see who it was that I ran into, but when I finally look at the other person’s face the rest of my apologies die in my throat. Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch is looking right back at me, sneering.

“Don’t worry about it, these shoes were a bit too big anyway, I’m sure the swelling will help with that.”

What a prat. I didn’t mean to run into him or step on his foot, it was an accident. He doesn’t have to be rude about it, I apologized right away. Unfortunately, Agatha doesn’t seem to notice how rude he is, and instead just seems thrilled to be able to talk to him.

“Oh! Tyrannus! How good to see you! I had no idea that you liked riding!” Her excitement usually seems sweet, but in this moment it’s grating. She seems more excited to talk to Tyrannus, who I’m just now realizing looks like a movie villain – long black hair, widow’s peak, dashing good looks that aren’t even marred by a nose slightly too high on his face, elegant clothing, the whole scene – than she ever is to talk to me. I become even more frustrated when he begins to speak to her, since the git turns out to be the most eloquent person I’ve ever met.

“Agatha, so lovely to see you. I haven’t spent quite as much time in the saddle as my mother has, of course, but since she was going to be attending today I decided to accompany her.” Smooth bastard. He’s barely said anything and he has more of her attention that I usually seem to have. I’m scowling, I know it, but I can’t seem to stop. My glare seems to make him notice me again, like he needed to be reminded of my presence. He extends a hand, and on instinct, I take it, introducing myself if only to cut him off.

“Simon Snow, nice to meet you.” Sometimes when I’m nervous, or flustered, or, apparently, annoyed, I’ll accidentally introduce myself as Simon Snow, instead of Simon Salisbury. It never really matters, since everyone already knows who I am anyway. Tyrannus just raises an eyebrow, bowing ever so slightly.

“Baz Pitch, the pleasure is all mine. And this is my friend, Lady Meredith Cady.”

I’d barely noticed the other girl _(“You can call me Minty”)_ , but I glace quickly at her now. I’m too distracted to do much more than nod in her direction though.

“Baz? How do you get _Baz_ from _Tyrannus_?”

He only seems mildly surprised that I already know his name, his left eyebrow quirks up a half centimeter more.

“How do you get _Snow_ from _Salisbury_? I have more than one name, you dolt.” Smarmy git. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, at your service.” He gives the smallest, most elegant version of a bow I’ve ever seen, even if it is sarcastic. Posh twat. He’s at least two inches taller than me and I hate it. Aren’t there places in the world where you always have to be shorter than the king, even if you have to crouch or bend over all the time? Why can’t Watford be one of those places?

Meredith – no, _Minty_ \- and Agatha are clearly getting uncomfortable with the obvious tension between _Basilton_ and myself, so Minty begins asking Agatha about her own riding experience as Baz and I glare daggers at each other. Luckily for Agatha, Minty seems to like horses almost as much as she does, and the two of them start inching away, in pursuit of peace and boring conversation, leaving Baz and me to force out something that pretends to be polite discourse.

**Baz**

I’m screwed.

He’s gorgeous and I’m screwed. I shouldn’t have let Meredith follow me, I should have tried to flirt with Agatha more, and I shouldn’t have gotten on Simon’s bad side right off the bat. I couldn’t let myself fall any deeper though. I’ve been half in love with him since I first heard about him. I mean, I wanted to hate him, truly, I did. His father had my mother killed! I should despise him! But I just felt bad for him instead. When I was younger, I wondered if the former king had had him killed, just like his mother. But then, when it was announced that Prince Simon had been found living on the streets in America, being lied to by his father and getting beaten up by thugs, well, I couldn’t help but feel pity. My fate was officially sealed when I saw him for the first time. Up until then he was just a story, news articles talking about an eighteen year old illustrated with baby pictures (adorable baby pictures at that – a mop of bronze curls, bright blue eyes, freckles and moles covering his face, and a little toothless grin). However, when he walked out of his first meeting with Parliament and I caught a glimpse of him as I waited for my father, I knew that I was done for. He still had the bronze curls, the blue eyes, and the constellation of moles covering his skin, but where the photos in the newspaper showed an innocent baby, I was being presented with someone who was clearly becoming a man. A ridiculously attractive, completely unrefined man. I was horrified at almost everything about him – even though he’d clearly been given a suit and a haircut and all of the fashionable things required to make him fit into the palace, he was still someone who had never been taught things such as the importance of good posture, how to chew with a closed mouth, or even how to close one’s mouth when not speaking. No matter how horrified I was though, I couldn’t help but feel my heart break upon looking at him, because he deserved everything, and I certainly wouldn’t be the one to give that to him, no matter how badly I wanted to be.

So now, two years after first laying eyes upon Simon Snow Salisbury, we’re finally speaking for the first time, and he must think I’m a prick. I tried to play off his clumsiness with a joke, but he just seemed offended instead of amused. I don’t think it’s possible to salvage the situation, my father would probably tell me not to bother, but I try anyway.

“I didn’t know you were interested in horses, did you start riding here at Watford?”

Simon continues to scowl at me as he bites out an answer.

“Agatha likes horses. I’m here with her. My _girlfriend_.” He practically growls the last word, which I feel is uncalled for. I haven’t actually tried to woo her away from him yet.

“Of course. Any plans for a wedding under way?” This should sound like light, casual conversation. Surely he’s been instructed in the art of conversing at some point over the last two years.

“No.”

Perhaps not.

In casting around for another topic of conversation, I begin to move into us further into the garden. Maybe Simon and I will never stroll through the palace grounds like we do in my imaginings, but at least he’s stomping along beside me right now.

“Are you enjoying being in Watford so far? I’m sure it took some getting used to at first. Are you fully settled in now?”

“What- Of course- How- You-“ I think Simon might be tempted to punch me, as it is he’s working up to a fine bluster. I wait with one eyebrow raised, and when he finally gets the words out, they’re cutting. “What do you think, Baz? Is living in a palace better than living on the streets? Have I finally adjusted to the fact that my father is a wanted criminal that the country I’m supposed to rule is trying to extradite? Am I used to sleeping in a bedroom bigger than the rooms I shared with twenty other boys at the care homes? Am I enjoying being told every single second of every single day that I’m doing something wrong?”

He’s getting dangerously close to the edge of a large fountain, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I’m shocked by his outburst; I suspect this has been building up for a while and he hasn’t been so forthright with anyone else, and while I’m pleased that he’s confiding in me even as he yells, I’m mostly worried that he’s about to fall into the fountain.

“Snow, you-“

“My name’s not Snow, it’s Simo-Ahh!” His words are interrupted by a short yell as he trips over his own feet and falls backwards into the fountain. Unfortunately for me, I had been holding out my hand in an attempt to warn and steady him, and he reflexively grabs on to it at the last moment, yanking me into the water next to him.

There’s a good deal of thrashing around as he tries to extricate himself from the fountain, and in the process he shoves me off of him, submerging me again. I come up with a lily pad stuck to my head, and he doubles over in laughter once he’s on dry ground. It’s childish, but I spit a stream of water at him in retaliation, causing him to scowl and stick his hand back in the water to splash me again. He then turns on his heel and stomps away, back towards the tents and the majority of the guests. In just a moment everyone will see their future king emerge from the gardens, dripping wet and furious. I pull the lily pad off of my head and choose to sneak out around the other side of the house, in order to avoid potential scandal, and any risk that my traitorous heart would cause me to run up to him, wrap him in my arms, and vow to protect him from anything else that would ever cause him distress.

I’m screwed.

**Penny**

Simon stomps through the foyer where I was taking tea with my mother, leaving a trail of dripping water behind him.

“Do I want to know?” Mum asks.

Simon pauses for a moment, debating what the proper answer is, I’m sure, before simply sighing and saying, “No.” He continues the trek upstairs, and with a nod to Mum I leave my tea behind and run to join him.

“What happened Simon? Are you alright?”

He’s bright red and getting redder by the minute.

“Baz Pitch pushed me into a fountain!”

“He what? Do you mean he truly shoved you into the water?”

Simon starts to bluster, tripping over his words as he tries to get them all out. I know it’s hard for him sometimes, so I force myself to wait and let him collect his thoughts.

“Well, I mean, he definitely backed me into the fountain, and that made me fall in… It’s not that he necessarily _shoved_ me, he just made me fall in!” He looks a little like a mad scientist after pulling at his wet curls and making them stand up every which way.

“Did you tell anyone about it? Did anyone see?” Is this going to be a scandal, or will it simply be whispered that the prince must have had a bit of a clumsy moment and tripped into a puddle?

“I haven’t told anyone, but I should! His whole family hates me, I know he did this on purpose. He’s- He must be- He’s plotting something, Penny, I know it! This was part of his plot!”

**Simon**

It’s so obvious. Baz and his whole family must be plotting to undermine me, so that they can push me out of power and take the crown for themselves instead. He makes me so mad; I’ve only known him for one afternoon and already my heart is pounding with how much I wanted to pin him down in that fountain and fight him properly. The arrogant jerk. He didn’t even look bothered to be soaked through! I can feel mud squelching in my shoes, some scum or something else gross going up one of my arms, and my mouth tastes like I swallowed a toad. He just sat there though, looking like a model in a sheer shirt, or like some weird extension of the fountain as he spit water back at me. Who even does that?

Penny doesn’t seem quite as concerned about the Grimm-Pitches’ obvious plot though. I’m fuming as I strip out of my wet clothes and step into the shower to rinse off, but she just yells through the bathroom door that maybe it was an accident. Yeah right.

A little later, once I’m clean and dried off, Penny’s mum reads me the riot act.

“You emerged from a fountain, dripping wet, and proceeded to walk through an entire garden party, acknowledging neither the guests, nor the fact that you were completely disheveled, inviting scandal – this is not the behavior of any civilized individual, let alone a future king!”

“But, it was Baz’s fault!” I interrupt. “He pushed me! Or, tripped me! He made me fall in! And I dragged him in too, so it serves him right,” I add smugly.

Prime Minister Bunce just pinches the bridge of her nose. “A prince does not drag anyone anywhere, and he certainly does not drag a fellow noble into a fountain!”

I’m definitely pouting now, which is another thing a prince probably shouldn’t do, but I don’t care.

“Besides,” she continues on, “if Lord Hampshire managed to avoid notice while in an identical situation, I would expect the same from you. There was no need to concern anyone by stalking through the party, you should have simply avoided the guests entirely.”

Ugh, Baz has a _title_? I mean, I guess that makes sense, I’m sure I could have reasonably figured that out at some point in time, but why does the stupid prat get to have something else to make him sound better than everyone else in the world? Isn’t it enough that he’s already tall and stupidly good-looking? His nose is the only flawed thing about his appearance, it sits a little too high on his face, and I want to yank it down a half-inch. Or just break it.

Eventually, I manage to convince Prime Minister Bunce that I’ll try harder to be better in the future (or she gives up), and she leaves Penny and me alone.

“So, how was the horse show?” Penny asks, clearly trying to change the subject. I won’t be distracted though.

“Baz just stared at us through the whole thing! It’s like he was plotting how he could embarrass me!”

Penelope sighs as though resigning herself to her fate.

“Simon, why on earth would he be plotting to embarrass you? It’s not like Parliament is going to hold some sort of vote of non-confidence against you.” She doesn’t mention that if they haven’t already for anything that I’ve done then they probably won’t do it just because I fell in a fountain, but my point still stands.

“Alright, so maybe that’s not his whole plan, but I know it’s part of it! He’s plotting to embarrass me and then build on it! He’s going to do something even worse! This was probably just step one!”

Penny takes another steadying breath, pinches the bridge of her nose, and gives in.

“Fine, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that he’s plotting something-“

“He is!”

“-and that he actually wants to take action against you. If you want to stop him, or try him in court, or have any other recourse, you need some kind of proof. You can’t just say that he pushed you into a fountain, even a prince needs some kind of witness for most accusations, unless you want to become a corrupt, evil dictator, which I do not recommend.”

“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll get proof.”

I may not be that good at being a prince, but I’m very good at discreetly tailing someone. For the next two weeks, I follow Baz every chance I get. I’m usually under a lot of surveillance, being a prince and all, but the time I spent in care homes taught me how to slip away and go unnoticed. I know how to be quiet, how to make sure that no one’s looking at me, and I know how to watch everyone else to figure out what’s going to happen, so I can react first, running if I have to. These skills transfer very well to the field of espionage, and in just two weeks I’m able to study Baz in the library, talking with his father outside of Parliament (they weren’t discussing anything useful, unfortunately), playing football with his cousin and a few other guys our age with titles, and even visiting his mother’s grave. I only followed him to her grave once though, I felt bad once I saw him leave flowers. He didn’t seem quite so menacing then, he just seemed sad. I don’t remember my mum, but that doesn’t mean I can’t guess what it would be like to lose a parent. It must be horrible. Watching Baz in that moment, I almost wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and call a truce, or do something to smooth out the distressed wrinkle in his brow. But then he straightened up and composed himself, and as he walked away I remembered that he pushed me into a fountain and would gladly snatch the crown off of my head if given the chance.


	4. The Royal Review

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of fucking course he’s riding a white horse, could he be more of a fairytale prince come to life?"

**Simon**

The day of the Royal Review I don’t get to trail Baz. I have to review the Royal Guard, and I have to be on horseback to do it apparently, because they’ve been doing it that way for hundreds of years and they won’t change tradition just because I’m no good with horses. I’m ridiculously nervous, because horses and I don’t seem to get along, even when I’m riding the most docile horses in the entire royal stable. So of course, on the one day I don’t expect to see Baz, and on the one day that I really can’t afford to have anything distracting me from the task at hand, Baz chooses to follow me.

“What are you doing here?” I can feel Penny cringe beside me, that’s no way for a prince to greet anyone of Lord Hampshire’s standing, but I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the stables, and I want to get ready in peace.

“Good day to you too, Your Highness.” He shouldn’t be allowed to bow like that. He’s managing to mock me without technically breaking a single rule. He also looks too refined when he does that. I can never tame my curls, and they constantly flop all over the place, but his hair is always slicked back and perfect, and even when a strand comes free and falls into his face as he bows it just ends up looking rakish instead of untidy. Posh tosser.

“I said, what are you doing here?”

He ignores me for a second time. “It’s lovely to see you as well, Ms. Bunce. Are you both looking forward to the review this afternoon?”

I feel like I’m ready to go off. He must know I’m nervous, and that’s why he’s trying extra hard to goad me. Meanwhile, he’s just standing there, scratching the nose of a horse that has nipped at me on no less than three occasions, and making the animal look like the most docile thing on the planet. Agatha’s supposed to be meeting me here any minute, and I don’t want her walking in and deciding that he looks like the better option for her, since he clearly knows what to do around horses.

Penny has been attempting to make polite conversation with Baz, but I’ve just been glowering.

“Are you planning to leave any time soon? You may be looking forward to watching the review, but some of us actually have to take part in it and prepare for it, and I would like to do it without you distracting the horses.” _Especially that one. You’ll probably tell it to bite me again._

For just a moment, Baz’s sneering façade slips. It’s only gone for a second, but there’s a flash of something else on his face, and I have no idea what he’s plotting now.

**Baz**

I have no idea what to do. My father would suggest getting Simon worked up to the point of somehow botching the review, but I really don’t want to do that. He’s blustering and acting angry, but I think… he seems _scared_. I knew that he didn’t care for horses, but I didn’t think he was actually scared of them. He’s edging around the room, trying to stay as far away from the individual stalls as possible, skirting even farther around the heads that stick out of a few of them.

I should make a cutting remark, antagonize him a little bit, and then sweep out of the stables to go distract his girlfriend. But, just this once, I decide to indulge myself.

“Which horse are you going to be riding today?”

**Simon**

I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I sure as hell don’t trust him.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

He raises a perfect eyebrow and looks disapprovingly at me.

“I’m not going to do anything, I’m simply curious.”

I don’t trust him, but I don’t think I’ll gain anything by lying to him.

“I’m riding that one, the white one.”

**Baz**

_Of fucking course he’s riding a white horse, could he be more of a fairytale prince come to life?_

**Simon**

Baz stalks over to the horse I indicated, the one that looks the nicest and only tried to bite me once. I contemplate warning him as he goes to stroke its mane, I start to open my mouth to tell him to mind its teeth, but the horse just huffs a bit and leans into his hand, clearly content to be patted by him. He’s whispering to it too, probably telling it to buck me off the first chance it gets. I glare at him, and finally step closer, trying to look bolder than I feel.

“Don’t mess its fur up. It’s been groomed, and I don’t want them to have to do it again.”

He lifts his head slightly and scoffs. “I assure you, I am not ‘messing it up’. The horse’s _hair_ is fine, and he will still be presentable for you to show off on, no matter how much you aggravate him.”

“Are you saying I _upset it_? It’s tried to bite me! I’m not the one in the wrong here!” Stupid Baz, of course all animals must like him, why wouldn’t he be perfect in just one more way?

“Snow, it’s a horse. I assure you, it’s more scared of you than you are of it.” He sounds so bloody patronizing. “However, they can sense when you’re scared or tense, and they’ll feed off that. So just try to calm down, alright?”

“How am I supposed to calm down when you’re clearly out to get me!”

“Excuse me, when I’m _what?_ ” His left eyebrow is arched higher than I’ve ever seen it.

“You’re plotting something! I know you are! Just admit it! You want to humiliate me in front of everyone so that Parliament won’t let me be king!”

“Do you even _hear_ yourself right now?” His mouth curls into a sneer. “I don’t need to ‘plot’ for that to happen. I assure you, I haven’t done anything untoward.”

I want to yell at him more, I want to order him to reveal whatever it is that he’s plotting and have him chained up, but Prime Minister Bunce has told me that a good prince doesn’t do things like that. She says that a good prince has the power to order people around, but doesn’t give any orders at all unless absolutely necessary.

“Fine. You’re not plotting. Whatever. Please leave so that I can get ready.” That’s as civil as I can manage to be, and I guess he decides to accept it, since he gives a small bow before strolling out, looking as unruffled as ever.

**Penny**

Obviously, I’m not riding with Simon in the review. Instead, I’m stationed at the end of the line of saluting guards with my mother, surrounded by other important members of the government, and families high-ranking enough to be present. Basilton is standing just a few feet away, next to his father and his aunt, Fiona. Simon must be a bad influence on me, because no matter how certain I am that Lord Hampshire is not plotting to overthrow the monarchy by embarrassing Simon, I still find myself listening in to his conversation as we wait for the review to start. It’s all in hushed tones, but I can still make most of it out.

“No Fiona, I’m not doing it. It’s not dignified.”

“Come on, boy-o, that’s the _point_. It’ll be extremely _un_ dignified.”

“No. It’s pointless, and I refuse to be the reason international tabloids gossip about this country.”

“Basilton-“ He cuts his father off.

“ _No._ I’ll have no further part of this.” And with that he turns and focuses intently on the empty path in front of us, pointedly ignoring his father and aunt as we all wait for the review to begin.

I have no idea what his conversation was about, but I do have to admit, it did sound like some sort of plotting. However, contrary to what Simon would like to believe, it sounded like Basil was trying to remove himself from the plot, not aid it.

Unfortunately for Simon, there clearly was a plot. He does a wonderful job with the actual review itself, looking dignified and collected riding between the raised swords of the Royal Guard. I can see the relief sneaking its way onto his face as he clears the soldiers and nudges the horse to the section of the path where everyone is standing, but suddenly he panics. I can see the second his faces changes, as he realizes a moment before the rest of us what’s about to happen. His horse rears, whinnying, clearly frightened by something, and then takes off, charging away into the gardens with Simon clinging to it for dear life. Thankfully he doesn’t fall off, but the picture of control and dignity that he painted is gone.

I look around, trying to figure out exactly what caused his horse to startle, when I see Fiona Pitch laughing, and stuffing a toy snake back into her pocket. She waves the head of it at her nephew, but Baz just glares at her before marching off. Obviously Simon is right, the Grimm-Pitches don’t want him to have the throne, but I’m starting to wonder if he might be wrong about Baz’s feelings on the matter. Afterall, he clearly wasn’t willing to help spook Simon’s horse, and I heard him whispering earlier in the stables too…

Simon kept his distance, but I put myself in between him and Baz, just in case they needed someone to keep them from coming to blows. Simon was hesitant to stand too close to the horses, but Baz was scratching the face of the horse Simon was going to be riding, talking under his breath to it. I don’t think he meant us to hear what he was saying, but I heard him.

_“You’re a good horse, aren’t you? Yes, you are, and you’ll be a very good boy today, won’t you? You’ll be on your best behavior for our prince, so that he doesn’t have to worry, isn’t that right?”_

Those didn’t exactly sound like words uttered by a nemesis, but I didn’t want to say anything about it and risk escalating the situation. Still, that, paired with Baz’s refusal to conspire with his family certainly gives me a lot to think about.

**Baz**

I’m going to _kill_ my Aunt. I’m absolutely furious with her, and my father too for that matter. It was a juvenile prank, scaring the horse with a fake snake, but it could have been really dangerous. It’s one thing to humiliate a prince, but what if he’d fallen off, hit his head, and died? Regicide is a much more serious matter. Besides all of that, I wanted him to do well. He was so nervous, I could tell when we were still in the stables, but he faced his fear and came out looking as gallant as ever, strong and sure on the back of the very animal he was hesitant to even approach. I’m proud of him, not that I’d ever admit it.

The fact that Fiona and my father absolutely ruined today for Simon, as well as endangering him, and wanted me to go along with it, well, I just can’t even find the words to express how completely livid I am. I understand that they don’t know how I feel. I’ve made sure of that, in fact. (I’m not just going to walk up to my father and tell him that I have feelings for the very monarch that he’s trying to overthrow.) I also haven’t done anything to make them think that I don’t support their plans, as I’ve gone along with pretty much everything else they’ve wanted me to do, and I’ve nodded along in every conversation we’ve had.

For example, when Fiona asked me, “Did you push the Prince into a fountain?” I wasn’t sure how to answer. Obviously I did nothing of the sort, I even tried to keep him from falling in the first place, but I knew that wasn’t the answer Fiona was hoping for. So instead I said, “Fuck yes I did.” (Aunt Fiona is my mother’s sister, and although I’m told they were very close, they were also clearly very different. My mother was refined, and elegant, and bright, and even though she was the Prime Minister I think she would have been just as well suited to be Queen. Fiona certainly shares my mother’s wit, but in any sort of polite society, Fiona isn’t… presentable.)

I’ve given my family no reason to doubt where I stand, but I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate these lies of omission, especially if my silence could lead to pain for Simon.

For a moment I contemplate stalking through the palace, but there’s too great of a risk of running into someone who would stop me there, so instead I head off towards the stables again. I know there’s a risk that I’ll encounter Snow, but on the off-chance that I do see him I’ll just try to avoid being punched, and if he’s feeling particularly charitable maybe I’ll even try to improve our relationship (unlikely).

As luck would have it, I discover the Prince almost as soon as I enter the stables. He’s sitting on a bench in the corner, turned to face the wall, trying to calm himself as tears stream down his face. I’m certain I’m the last person he wants to see right now, but I can’t help myself; I have very few true moments of indulgence in my life, and I deserve to comfort him.

“For someone who’s afraid of horses you did a wonderful job riding – just think, a few more lessons, and you could be a professional jockey.”

I know that humor didn’t work the last time I tried to joke with him, but I don’t know what else to say. Simon looks miserable and is currently reminding me far too much of the scared boy he was when he first arrived in Watford. I want him to smile again, and my brain is almost useless right now in the face of his tears.

“Why would you say that? Why do you have to go for the lowest blow? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

He barely even turns to acknowledge me, and I can actually feel my heart breaking.

“Simon.” Am I allowed to call him that? “I didn’t mean any harm. I simply wanted to-“ He stiffens and whirls on me before I can cast around for the words to explain that I simply wanted to fix everything for him for the rest of his life.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been plotting ways to take my crown, and I know that you were behind this too!”

“I swear, I wasn’t.” He scoffs.

“Sure, you had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my horse just so happened to freak out the second it walked by you, and there’s no way you could possibly be involved with a plot to take power from my family so that you can sit on the throne instead, is that right?”

“I promise, I’m not.”

That may technically be a lie, but even if I am involved with my family’s plot against the Prince I’m not actively participating, in fact, I’m working against them. Even still, Simon isn’t having it. He scrubs at his face and musses up his hair, then glares at me and stomps on my foot before storming out.

I’m left standing in the stables with a throbbing foot, wondering if I’ll even be allowed to live in the country once he takes the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't matter to the story at all, but it's very important to me that you all know that the horses mentioned here (in my mind) are the same horses from [@annabellelux's](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com/) fic, A Foreign Affair  
> I loved the scene with the horses in that fic, and when I was writing this I kept picturing the same stable and horses.
> 
> Also, it is important to note that Simon is ridiculous and a little bit scared; there are no bad animals and all of these horses are wonderful and good.


	5. The Chicken Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wonder briefly who wore this ring before me, and how they felt about being queen. As Simon gives me a chaste kiss I realize that I’ll probably have the rest of my life to find out."

**Simon**

Every day I wake up and feel like something is pressing on my chest, keeping me from breathing, and making me feel like I haven’t done something I really need to. I know it’s because every day is another day closer to turning twenty one, and another day closer to forfeiting the throne if I’m not married by then. The weather is getting warmer, I’m getting anxious, and I need to propose to Agatha.

When I tell Penny, she’s less-than-thrilled.

“Are you sure, Si? I mean, the two of you just don’t seem like a couple that’s ready to get married.”

I pull my hands through my hair in frustration. “It’s not like we really have a choice, is it Pen? I have two months before I turn 21, and if I’m not married by then I get kicked out. This is just part of my kingly destiny or whatever, so I’ll marry Agatha, and eventually we’ll fall in love. It’s a little bit backwards, but this is just what royals do, right?”

Penny doesn’t look reassured in the slightest, but she gives me a quick squeeze around my shoulders and says, “Alright, let’s go tell mum.”

**Agatha**

Simon’s birthday is two months away, and I know exactly what to expect when he asks me to go for a walk with him. He takes me into the gardens, and I have a sudden flashback to walking through these same hedges last month and losing Simon to Baz. At least I got to meet Minty that day. We clicked almost immediately, it was like discovering a best friend. She understands all of the pressure I’m under, and even though she’s not dating the heir to the throne she has had some remarkably useful insights when it comes to dealing with Simon and everything else in this whole production. I start wishing that she could have joined us today, but I know that’s ridiculous. I know why I’m here, and I know this isn’t the sort of outing I could have invited friends to.

Eventually, Simon brings us to a bench under an arbor, and as we sit down he starts to fidget with something in his pocket. He starts telling me how much he’s enjoyed getting to know me these last few months, and how he knows this all might seem a bit fast, but how he wants to get to know me even better in the future. The entire time he’s speaking I’m readying myself to give an enthusiastic _yes_ , because I know that’s the only thing I’m allowed to say. I don’t mind Simon, truly I don’t, he’s lovely. He’s kind, and caring, and even though we’re very different people he tries so hard to take an interest in the things I care about. I just don’t love him. He’s a wonderful friend, but that’s all he is right now. When I told my mother that I didn’t know how I was supposed to fall in love with someone in just a few months, she told me that I would love him eventually, and that we could still fall in love after the wedding if we weren’t there before. I wanted to ask what would happen if I never fell in love, but I know that’s not something I get to ask. After all, I’m sitting on this bench with a prince, and I’m about to be the woman every girl in the country is jealous of. I’m about to get a historic ring, and become a princess and then a queen. I don’t get to complain.

So, when Simon finally pulls the ring box out of his pocket and asks me if I’ll marry him, I say, “Of course, Simon,” and I smile as I hold out my hand so that he can put the ring on my finger. The diamond in the center is huge, and I know that someone must have selected it for him from the crown’s jewels. I wonder briefly who wore this ring before me, and how they felt about being queen. As Simon gives me a chaste kiss I realize that I’ll probably have the rest of my life to find out.

**Baz**

I’m in a petulant mood today, the whole household is. Vera, our housekeeper, has been exceptionally kind this morning, pressing my favorite shirt and serving my favorite breakfast, but it’s still as if a gray cloud has settled over the house. Father is furious that Simon has managed to propose already, Fiona keeps muttering rude things under her breath, and I’m extremely put out that I’m being forced to face the reality that I knew was coming ever since Simon arrived in Watford. Obviously I knew that he wasn’t going to marry me. He’s a prince, and the last one of his family line, and so of course he would marry some blonde heiress and have a million perfect children, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

My dark mood is compounded when we arrive at the throne room and I actually have to see the happy couple. Simon looks handsome as ever in a smart blue suit, his curls tamed and gelled back, and with a pocket square embroidered with Watford’s crest peeking out of his pocket. Unfortunately, Agatha is standing beside him in an outfit that doesn’t quite match. It’s not as if the two of them clash, per say, but her blush pink dress and heels are a few shades too dark to go with her fiancé’s suit. Their posture is also at odds; while Agatha looks relaxed and exactly like someone prepared to stand by a king, Simon is clearly uncomfortable. He’s trying not to fidget, but he keeps shifting his weight, and he can’t seem to figure out if he should be looking at Agatha or at the people coming up to talk to them, so his head is swiveling like he’s watching a tennis match. It’s making me anxious just watching him.

Fortunately for Simon, he only has to endure a few more minutes of small talk before Prime Minister Bunce quiets the room and tells everyone who wishes to have an audience with the prince to form an orderly line. This is a fairly symbolic ceremony, no one really expects Simon to personally fix their well or save their crops anymore, Watford is a modern nation that uses our Parliament and our voters to change things, but we’ve long had the tradition of rulers who give public audiences. Of course, I don’t have any memory of those, seeing as they stopped after the death of Queen Lucy, but apparently the tradition is starting up again as a way for Simon to flaunt his engagement.

The first commoner steps up when he is motioned to, and immediately drops to his knee, head bowed. I would love to tell Simon to get used to this, as he always looks so uncomfortable any time he’s shown even the slightest bit of deference, but then Prime Minister Bunce gives him a small nod and he seems a little more at ease as he begins speaking.

“Good afternoon. How are you today?”

The man tells him that he’s very well, thank you, and he is so happy for the young prince’s engagement that he has brough a watermelon for his table. The produce is handed over, and then the process is repeated far too many times. We may be a modern nation, but we are still very agricultural and a lot of the farmers are keen to continue with the traditional acts of fealty. While I quickly tire of watching eggs and squash and radishes being presented, Simon seems truly delighted by everything he’s given. Every so often he’ll ask questions about someone’s farm, or how far they travelled, or even if he could try milking a cow if he visited the woman giving him a gallon of fresh milk! (The woman seemed surprised, but assured him that he could, and Prime Minister Bunce looked like she was already exhausted thinking of the security detail necessary for such a ridiculous outing.)

Across the room, the Prime Minister’s daughter, Penelope, is clearly trying to hold back her laughter. I’m glad that Simon has her as a friend, since his intended looked mildly horrified at the idea of milking a cow. I wouldn’t like to milk a cow either, but if it made Simon happy I’d join him on a farm and watch him milk an entire barn full of cows.

As the line of commoners finally starts to dwindle, a large man steps up to the throne and introduces himself as ‘Tiny’. Simon seems just as delighted to see him as he has for every single other person, and when ‘Tiny’ presents him with a covered basket our nightmare of a prince breaks protocol and asks to look inside of it. The servant who took the basket extends it back to Simon, and his face absolutely lights up when he folds the cloth back.

“It’s a chicken!” he exclaims, and without further ado he reaches in and tries to pick it up. Simon may have cultivated plenty of life experiences during his time living in America, but it’s clear none of those experiences took him anywhere near a farm. He’s struggling to hold the bird properly, and as soon as it starts flapping its wings in his face, he drops it in shock, and the entire throne room is thrown into chaos. The chicken is running amok, none of the guards or servants are quite sure how to catch it, and Simon seems bound and determined to fix this mess himself, as he jumps off the dais and starts to run after the bird too. Penelope is trying to get Simon’s attention so that he’ll stop running around, Agatha looks like she may be sick, and my family is finally starting to have a better day, as we can barely breathe for how hard we’re all laughing. Fiona is practically cackling, Father is making no effort to hide his own laughter, and no matter how much I may like Simon, I can’t hold back my own laugh. The entire situation is ridiculous, and I hope Watford keeps this tradition up for as long as Simon is king.

**Simon**

This afternoon was excellent, I loved getting to meet all of the people, and hear about their farms, and I think I could have caught that chicken too if Prime Minister Bunce hasn’t reminded me that “Princes don’t chase chickens, and they never run in the throne room.” The only bad part of the day was seeing Baz’s family. I’m getting worried that Penelope isn’t taking them seriously enough, since it’s clear they’re up to something. I still try to make her see reason.

“It must have been another part of his plot to humiliate me!”

“You don’t know that Simon! It’s really not uncommon to be presented with things our farmers grow, you received enough symbolic fruit and vegetables today, the chicken wasn’t too far out of the ordinary.”

“But he was laughing at me!”

“Si, _everyone_ was laughing.” I start to pout, and Penny reassures me. “Not necessarily laughing at you, but just at the whole situation in general. I don’t think anyone expected to see their monarch holding poultry, and it was sort of funny when it started flapping its wings.”

**Penny**

Simon did very well today, other than the chicken incident. I am worried about his obsession with Baz though, it’s bordering on unhealthy. He’s always convinced that Baz is plotting something, but it’s never anything even remotely plausible. I know that Basil’s family wants to restore their own power, but I don’t think Baz is out to get Simon. I’ve been watching him closely ever since I overheard him in the stables, and I’m becoming more convinced that Simon has the whole thing backwards. Of course, I’m not going to tell Simon any of that, there’s no sense in it, unless I can somehow figure out a way that Baz could keep Simon from ending up in an unhappy marriage, and right now that’s feeling unlikely.


	6. The Broom Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...even if you mess everything up and you’re completely miserable at being a prince, well, at least you’re only a figurehead, right?”

**Simon**

There are a million good things about living in Watford, and living in the palace especially, but the one thing I could do without is the constant surveillance. Ms. Possibelf coordinates things for Prime Minister Bunce, but she’s taken over a lot of my daily life as well, and I have two additional people assigned just to me. Their names are Gareth and Rhys, and I still don’t understand precisely what they’re supposed to do, but it seems like between the two of them they oversee my security detail while also doing little things like turning down my bed and hovering around to see if I need anything. I’m not sure how much of their work is stipulated in their contracts and how much of it is just because they’re nice guys who want to help me, but I usually enjoy their company. However, there are times when I just don’t want to be around people, and they’re very difficult to slip away from. I’ve been able to do it on a few occasions, like when I’ve needed to follow Baz, but there are other times when it just seems impossible to elude them. The worst is whenever I’m called in to observe Parliament – I’m never allowed to say anything, and I’m supposed to just sit there and watch what happens. Even when they talk about things that directly impact me I’m not allowed to talk, and I have to listen to Malcolm Grimm-Pitch go on rants that call for my removal from the throne and the restoration of another family’s power (preferably his own). On days like that I just want to be left alone for a few hours afterwards; I need time to get my frustrations out and to push down my anxieties before I’m ready to try acting like a prince again, and it’s on those days that I usually end up hiding from everyone in random utility closets in the palace.

After a particularly bad parliamentary session I’ve just ducked into a mop closet and I’m trying to take deep breaths to get my breathing under control when the door opens again and I spin around, scrambling for an explanation about why I’m in here. Instead of Rhys or Gareth, or even Ms. Possibelf greeting me though, I’m face to face with Baz.

“Get out. You shouldn’t be in here.”

I just want him to leave, I don’t want to deal with him right now, and I don’t want anyone to see him standing in the doorway and decide to come investigate.

“What’s wrong? Why are you hiding in a closet?”

He almost looks concerned, but I know better. He must just be good at acting, on top of everything else.

“’m not hiding, now go away,” I mutter, looking down at my shoes and trying to will him away. I just spent forty-five minutes listening to his father insult every deceased member of my family and our ability to rule, and I really don’t want to look at another member of the Grimm family today.

Instead of leaving, Baz steps further into the closet and closes the door.

**Baz**

Simon is clearly hiding, and he’s clearly on the verge of a panic attack. His breaths are shallow, his face is blotchy, and his curls are unruly as if he’s been pulling on them. He’s obviously trying to hide from his handlers, and so I did the only logical thing I could think to do – I stepped into the closet to calm him down, and to help keep his location a secret. (Although he should really do a better job of hiding, he didn’t even look around before ducking in here, I saw him from the opposite end of the hall, completely in the open.

“You know, it’s alright if you are hiding. I’m sure you have a lot to deal with, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to step out of the public eye every now and then. Although perhaps next time you could choose a place with a few less chemicals, breathing this in can’t be doing your braincells any favors.” I don’t know why I keep trying to bring levity to situations with Snow, but my own braincells are fairly useless in his presence, so I’m doing the best that I can.

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” _Now fuck off_ is clearly implied.

“I’m serious. And you know, you could probably ask your staff to simply leave you alone when you want some privacy. Your apartments must be a little more comfortable than this closet, right?”

He actually huffs a laugh at that before sobering again.

“I don’t want to be rude.”

I can’t believe him, the absolute audacity, he can’t chew with his mouth closed and yet he wants to be considerate of the feelings of his staff to the point that he’s willing to hide in cabinets meant for cleaning supplies? How did this human embodiment of the sun end up in this place?

“You’re the prince, you’re allowed to be rude. And if you’re too good for that, then think about it this way: if you tell your handlers that you want to be left alone in your room for a bit, then they’ll get a bit of a break too. You could even view it as a nice thing to do, and it would let you calm down away from them.”

**Simon**

Is Baz… actually being nice to me? He hasn’t said one snarky thing since opening the door, and even when he said it was okay to be rude to the people who work here he said it in a way that wasn’t rude, and he genuinely seems to be trying to help me. I’ve certainly calmed down a bit since we started talking; my heart’s still beating kind of fast, but I don’t feel as overwhelmed anymore.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

One corner of Baz’s mouth tips up in the tiniest impression of a smile, before his face falls back into a more serious expression again.

“Seriously though, are you alright? Why are you in here and avoiding your people?”

I suppose I could lie, but Baz is clever, he’d work it out and then I’d just be trapped here tripping over my own words.

“I don’t like sitting in on Parliament sessions.”

“If you’re trying to avoid the one today you’re in luck, it just ended.”

He must know that I was there, I think he’s trying to give me an out. I don’t take it.

“I know. I wasn’t trying to avoid it, I’m just trying to avoid thinking of everything that it made me think of.” Like how I have to get married in a few months to someone who only seems to like me as a friend, how my dad might be a murderer, how I’m unfit to rule a country, how Baz’s family is trying to kick me out of the palace, how I’m scared that I’ll end up back on the streets or in jail if things go really wrong and it turns out I’m even worse at being a king than I thought, and, and, and…

Baz gives me a look that is openly sympathetic. I want to hate it, I want to hate _him_ , his family is at the root of half my problems, but right now I just can’t. I don’t have room for hate alongside all the anxiety, so I just let him speak and surprise me.

“That sucks.” That’s the least eloquent phrase I’ve ever heard him utter, but it’s also the perfect summary for everything that I’m feeling right now.

“Heh, yeah.”

I expect him to just drop it then, but instead he continues. “I get it though. I do. I mean, maybe not quite to the same extent that you’re worried about everything right now, I’m not about to have an entire country dropped on my shoulders, but it can be really hard living in a spotlight and constantly feeling pressured to perform for everyone. It’s okay to take a step back sometimes and just breathe when you need to, alright?” His head is tipped down a bit and his eyes are searching out mine, and when I make eye contact with him he gives me that tiny smile again and waits for me to nod back before saying, “And even if you mess everything up and you’re completely miserable at being a prince, well, at least you’re only a figurehead, right?”

At first I think he’s serious, and he was just pretending to be nice to tear me down again, but then he flashes a bigger smile and shoves his shoulder into mine. It startles me into smiling too, and I laugh as I step closer to shove him back. Unfortunately, it’s at that moment that the door to the broom closet opens again, and this time the face of Ms. Possibelf greets us.

Baz slips out with a nod to Ms. Possibelf, a “good afternoon” to someone beyond the door I can’t see, and one last smirk thrown back at me, before leaving me to Penelope and Prime Minister Bunce who come in to view as Ms. Possibelf opens the door all the way.

**Penny**

“When are you going to start acting responsibly?”

Mum is reading Simon the riot act, and he looks absolutely miserable. He’s slumped onto a couch in our apartments, and he’s methodically working his way through a sleeve of Oreos while pouting and looking like he’s attempting to hold in a good deal of screaming.

“Hiding in closet with a man who is trying to steal your crown? Coming out of a fountain, dripping wet, with the same man who is trying to steal your crown?”

Simon hunches over even more.

“This is not the behavior of a future king, and this is certainly not how one is to conduct oneself with titled and landed individuals. You have spent months telling me that you find the Pitches untrustworthy, that you are certain they’re conspiring against you – you even asked me to have them followed! And now, despite your great personal concern, you have been repeatedly putting yourself in their path, and risking not only your reputation, but an already precarious diplomatic relationship as well. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Simon is making intense eye contact with the rug beneath his feet, but as he mumbles out an apology and asks if he can be dismissed my eyes are darting between him and my mum, and I’m starting to come up with a theory of my own.


	7. The Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I feel like I can make a difference for the first time since arriving in Watford."

**Simon**

I don’t know what Baz is planning, but he’s really getting under my skin. I don’t trust his family, but then he stops acting like a slimy git for one minute and he seems like he could be a decent human, and I get confused. But the next thing I know he’s back to being evil, sitting with his father and his aunt and making rude comments with them. I mean, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see them sitting on a platform at the end of the street, and they’re all smirking and laughing, so there’s no way they’re saying anything nice.

I’ve decided I’m not going to think about Baz, or the rest of his family, today though. It’s Watford’s Independence Day, and there’s a huge parade, which I think is wonderful. Parades are great, because it’s just an excuse to go outside and enjoy nice weather, and music, and see everyone, and be happy. I can’t even be upset that I have to ride in the parade, instead of getting to watch it, because all I have to do is wave, and even I can’t mess that up.

I’m sitting on top of the back seat of an awesome vintage convertible, Agatha is in the front, and I can hear the marching band a little ways in front of us playing happy music the entire time we drive. Everything is perfect, until we reach the end of the street and I see a group of children standing on the corner before our turn. I recognize the kids immediately – I don’t know exactly who they are, but their clothes and how they’re standing and all the little things I used to be far too used to seeing make it clear that we’re passing in front of a children’s home. My stomach lurches, and I’m immediately transported back to the months I spent in different homes, waiting for my dad to come claim me. I see two boys tugging on the braids of one of the younger girls, and without pausing to think I yell out.

“Stop!”

I don’t know what I thought would happen (I didn’t think, that’s always the problem), but the driver of our car slams on the breaks, and the parade grinds to a halt up and down the street. Before anyone can tell me not to, I’m jumping off the back of the convertible and running over to the children. The two boys who were picking on the little girl immediately straighten up and back off, but she still looks upset. I was never great at being comforting in the care homes, I would mostly just beat up the bullies and let the other kids run away while they were distracted, but I know that’s not an option right now, so I do my best. I kneel down in front of the girl and wave awkwardly.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

She removes her thumb from her mouth just long enough to say, “Amelia,” and then looks over at a man who’s probably in charge of the home.

“Hi Amelia, I’m Simon.” She keeps looking back and forth between the older man and me, so I stand up to talk to him too.

“Er, hi. Um, who are these children?” I probably should try to sound a little bit more professional, but I figure if anyone’s going to understand, it’ll probably be this man. He doesn’t even blink, and in fact he doesn’t make a fuss about talking to me either, no bowing or anything, and I’m so glad for it.

“The children are orphans, we care for as many as we can. We work with foster families and adoptive parents, but many of the children have been here since birth.”

I glance back at the kids and see most of them peering excitedly at me. Ever since learning I was a prince I’ve wanted to help people, but so much time has been spent making sure that I’m socially presentable myself that I’ve barely been able to anything else. Now though, I feel like I can make a difference for the first time since arriving in Watford.

I see a woman with a cart selling little plastic crowns and tiaras and swords and wands, so I wave her over as I ask the man, “Can they join me?”

**Baz**

On one side of me, my father is hissing about political posturing and tricks and _how dare they_ , and on my other side Fiona is making rude comments about Simon joining the orphans and interspersing her tasteless jokes with commentary on how put-out Agatha looks. I have to agree with her there, Agatha looks like she wants to throw a fit, but was clearly raised too well to actually scream right now. When Simon first yelled for the parade to stop, she whirled around to look at him, and although she initially looked concerned her face became stony once she saw Simon vault out of the car. (I certainly wouldn’t be upset if I were her, she had an even better view of that showing of athleticism than I did, and unlike me, she doesn’t have to hide it if she wants to ogle the prince’s ass.) She’s tried to get his attention a few times now, but he’s only turned back to smile and wave her off once, so either he’s ignoring her, or he’s just too focused on being the most perfect man to ever grace our country to even notice her.

I’m not entirely sure what emotion my face is reflecting, although I’m counting on my years of practice to keep my expression either blank, bored, or disgusted. As long as I don’t look love-struck that should be fine. I am, though. Love-struck. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen is wearing a navy linen suit that has been perfectly pressed, and is tailored to hug every curve and angle without being too tight. He’s kneeling in front of children and listening to them all clamor to tell him what types of crowns or swords they want, and then he takes the hand of the first young girl he approached and leads them all to join in the parade, ignoring his fiancé the entire time. He’s also ignoring me, or maybe he’s just forgotten about everything else except for making those poor children happy, but that’s alright, because I don’t want anything to ruin the smile on his face right now.

The little girl he saved from the two bullies reminds me of Mordelia a few years back – not in disposition, no, Mordelia is a terror and I love her for it – but she used to be that height, and she wore her hair in the same style. I don’t think Simon knows that I have siblings, but I suddenly have a mental image of him sitting down to a tea party laid out by the twins, and pretending to drink their imaginary tea while Mordelia tells him about her latest morbid fascination and the baby coos in his lap. He’d be nodding earnestly the whole time, complimenting the little ones on their fake culinary skills, asking Mordelia questions that would allow her to monologue, and having his freckled fingers grasped and waved around by my little brother.

I’m disgustingly sentimental sometimes, and I hate myself for it, as there is no possible way any of my daydreams will come to pass. Instead, I swallow down most of my adoration for the bronze-haired wonder in front of us and drawl, “Oh look, he’s letting the children join the parade, how charming,” so that my father can spit out his reply of, “Not for everyone.”

**Simon**

This is even better than riding in the convertible was. It’s so much nicer to be able to walk, and I made all the children so happy! Even little Amelia has come out of her shell and is waving to the crowds around us, and it’s so nice to feel like the cheering is for all of us, and not just me. If being a king can be like this, sharing the spotlight with others who deserve it more, then I might not be so bad at this after all.

After the parade, I ask Prime Minister Bunce if I can present an idea at the next meeting of Parliament. She’s hesitant at first, but once she hears me out and realizes that I’m not plotting anything to do with Baz (I don’t plot, that’s just him), she says that she’ll introduce me to a few people who can help, and schedules a time for me to meet with some experts. Two weeks later, I find myself facing a room full of people in white wigs and presenting a plan that most of them hate.

“So, that’s why I plan to turn the winter palace at White Chapel into a children’s home until money can be raised for an improved one inside of the city.”

The room is completely silent for a moment, and for the first time since I started speaking a few minutes ago I let myself make eye contact with a few of the members of Parliament. Some look bored, some look displeased, one man is nodding encouragingly but I can’t remember his name, and then Malcolm Grimm-Pitch speaks up.

“This is ridiculous. You may not be aware, _Your Highness_ , but White Chapel serves a purpose in this country. It is used by the very people you are speaking to right now, and I highly doubt anyone in this room will consider converting it for something as unnecessary as a care home. The current children’s home has been sufficient for decades, there is no reason to take away a parliamentary perk.”

What an arsehole. I can’t just say that though, I have to stay calm and pretend like I don’t want to punch him in the face or cut out his tongue. I take a deep breath.

“I am fully aware of the current use of the castle, and I have spoken to a number of people in this government about what would happen if the castle at White Chapel was unavailable for a few years. I do not see the reason to maintain the castle just for hunting weekends and meetings that could be easily held here, or at any number of other country estates. Perhaps even you could host a retreat at one of your properties, Mr. Grimm,” I add, risking a moment of cheekiness. “I feel guilty having this home, while they have none. We will be undertaking this project.” This wasn’t up for debate in the first place, I have every right to decide what to with the multiple palaces that are somehow mine now, I was simply supposed to present the plan to Parliament so that they weren’t taken aback by it when the news of the project was shared with the media. However, I still probably wasn’t supposed to be quite so hostile to Parliament after presenting my idea, so somewhat belatedly I add a, “Thank you,” and then retake my seat, trying to keep my legs still and not scuff my feet back and forth on the carpet for the rest of the session.


	8. The Archery Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought I might come over and see if I could prevent our future king from standing trial for manslaughter.”

**Baz**

This beautiful idiot is a danger to himself and everyone around him. I’ve watched him attempt to shoot an arrow through a hoop for three afternoons now, and he is no closer than when he made his first attempt. Reading in the garden has become a life-threatening endeavour, and if I wasn’t so stupidly head-over-heals for Simon I would have taken cover long ago. I don’t know how much longer I can push my luck though, as he’s sent two arrows within a foot of my head already. At least I can take solace in the fact that he’s not actively trying to kill me, as if he were the arrows would have never made it so close.

I get up and start strolling over to him, and immediately the demeanor of his entire group shifts. His eyes narrow a little, and I can tell that he’s trying to figure out how hostile I’m planning to be. Agatha perks up when she sees me approaching, and I find myself sincerely hoping that she’s not the sort who would cheat on Simon. I don’t want the two of them to be together, but no one deserves infidelity, and if she’s already looking to have an affair then Simon should know while it’s not too late to back out of the engagement and find someone else. Of course, I might also be a bit of a hypocrite, since I’m not opposed to the idea of seducing Simon away from Agatha. Either way, Agatha is looking coy, and I do not care for that at all, yet I still throw her a glance, with one eyebrow perfectly raised. It’s Penelope who shocks me most in her reaction though. When she sees me coming she whispers something to Simon, and then starts to walk away, looping her arm through Agatha’s to drag the other girl off with her, leaving me alone with Simon. I’ve never minded saying that Penelope Bunce is clever, but I’m starting to worry that she might be too clever for my own good.

“What do you want?” Has this boy ever greeted me in a civilized manner?

“Good afternoon to you too, Snow.” I won’t let his oafishness ruin a pleasant day.

“Hi. What are you doing here?” That’s at least a little bit better, his tone wasn’t as openly hostile that time.

“I’ve been enjoying reading in the garden, but as it’s become a perilous activity, I thought I might come over and see if I could prevent our future king from standing trial for manslaughter.” His brows are furrowed, and he’s adorable. “Would you like some pointers?”

I can tell that he doesn’t want to listen to me, but I’ve seen how frustrated he’s getting, and he knows that his time is running out to practice. After a few seconds of torturous inner turmoil, he sighs and says, “Okay. Fine. Thanks.”

I give a brief nod to the poor woman who had been assigned to teach him, allowing her to run off and take cover, before asking him to pick up his bow and arrow again.

“Take your stance. Stand as if you’re about to shoot, but don’t let go. Just hold your position so I can see what you’re doing wrong.” He scowls at me, but follows my orders anyway. “Lower your elbow.” He puts it too low. “No, raise it a bit.” It’s too high again. “Not that much.”

“I don’t know what you want!” he bursts out, and for half a second I honestly believe that the crown prince is about to stamp his foot in frustration. But then he takes a deep breath, calms himself down a bit, and asks, “Can you show me? Please?”

I could interpret this request in one of two ways: I could take the bow and arrow from him and model the posture I want him to have. Or, I could use this as an opportunity to get closer to him, to put my arms around him and adjust his body. Since he hasn’t made any moves to drop the bow or hand it over to me, and because I’m weak, I step behind him and place my hand on his elbow. He tenses for a second, but then relaxes, and I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. I push down ever so slightly on his arm, and he squares himself up in the new position.

“Now, use your mouth as an anchor.” This is something my archery instructor always used to say to me, but apparently Simon has never heard it before.

“My- what??”

“Touch your mouth, Snow.”

“Oh.”

He does that too, and I get a little braver.

“Now, relax this hand,” – I curl my hand around his on the bow, my other hand is on his shoulder and he’s practically pressed into me now. He’s so warm all over – “take a deep breath in,” – we inhale together, and I close my eyes for just a moment, savoring this for all that it’s worth – “and release.” I’m whispering at this point, but we’re so close that he hears me anyway, and when he lets the arrow fly it sails through the ring and hits the target perfectly.

We’re both frozen for a second, and then he pulls back, eyes wide, mouth moving from an expression of awe into a blinding smile. “Baz, we did it!” My heart stutters over his words, tripping on the _we_ , and I just smile back at him.

“Well done, Simon.”

I finally step back all the way, untangling our arms, every inch of my body protesting the loss of his. I’ve pushed my luck too far already today, I’ve been too transparent, but I can’t hold back one last comment before walking away.

“Keep practicing, and don’t kill anyone now, alright? If you do, I’ll have to testify that it was on purpose.” I give him a smirk just to keep him on his toes, and I start walking back to retrieve my book, before heading in search of a quiet room to have a breakdown in.


	9. The Evening by the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat.”  
> ...  
> “Isn’t that a bit backwards? Don’t people usually allow children to start with a goldfish, and then work their way up to a country, instead of vice-versa?”

**Simon**

“Simon, quick, look out your window! It’s _Baz!”_

I’m spending the evening with Penny, watching TV and trying not to think about the wedding, when Penny goes to investigate the tapping noise we’ve been hearing. I look outside and sure enough, Baz is standing there throwing rocks at my window, clearly trying to get my attention. He stops when I open it and stick my head out.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, with hair so fine, come out your window, climb down the vine.”

Is he serious? He wants me to climb down the side of the palace? Also, who just starts a conversation by speaking in verse? At least he isn’t insulting me, he even said that my hair was fine. Not high praise, but maybe I can humor him a bit. He has been much nicer to me recently.

“The feat you ask, dear sir, isn’t easy. And I won’t respond to that line, it’s far too cheesy.” Ha! I can be clever too, he’s not the only one!

I pull my head back in the window and look over at Penny. I open my mouth to ask her what to do (Baz hasn’t seemed to be plotting against me recently, and ever since he taught me how to shoot an arrow we’ve almost been under an unspoken truce, but I’m still not sure if I should go along with him) or maybe just to point out that Baz is wearing _jeans_ , when she decides for me.

“Just go, Simon! I won’t tell anyone, just don’t do anything completely stupid.”

I was expecting her to tell me to ignore him, or that he wasn’t planning anything and to not be so suspicious, or really anything other than what she just said. Penny’s encouragement shocks me into compliance, and before I know it I’m tossing the blanket she hands me out the window and trying to find footholds in the stones on the side of the palace. Baz is watching from below, shifting his weight as though he’s worried I might fall, but this was his dumb idea in the first place, so he should have some faith in my ability to scale a wall. It’s not until I’m almost to the ground that I realize he may have been joking about climbing down the vine, and I probably could have gone out the side door instead.

I trip once I’m safely on the ground and end up stepping on Baz’s foot yet _again_ , knocking him back a bit.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it by now.” That’s his only response when I try to apologize. Jerk. I only did it on purpose once.

“What’s going on? What are you planning?” I start demanding as soon as I’ve steadied myself. He doesn’t answer though, and instead just motions for me to follow him as he begins walking through the gardens and towards the woods, adding the blanket I threw him to the bag he’s carrying.

I have no idea what to think, so I just follow him.

**Baz**

I have no idea what I was thinking. I can’t believe he’s willingly following me and hasn’t put up more of a fuss at this point, and since I didn’t think I would make it this far I’m starting to regret not planning out my next steps a little better. We finally make it to the woods, and I clear my throat in an attempt at starting conversation. Simon flinches a bit, but for once doesn’t jump to the defensive, so I cast around wildly for an easy topic.

“Are you excited for your wedding?”

Why the fuck did I say that?

“Er, I guess so. I mean, it should be nice, everyone’s been working really hard to get ready for it.” He pauses for a moment, and then asks shyly, “Baz?”

“Yes, Snow?”

“Can we not talk about the wedding please?”

That’s a request with which I am more than happy to comply.

“Of course. What would you like to talk about instead?” I expect him to just shrug, or give some sort of non-committal answer, but instead he shocks me by turning the question around back onto myself.

“I don’t know. What do you like to talk about? What do you like to do in your spare time, other than plot against me, of course?”

One corner of his mouth has curled up, so I think he’s only joking about the plotting. I don’t know when he decided I wasn’t the bad guy anymore, but I’m happy to answer his questions.

“I like to play the violin. And I like to read. I spend a lot of time playing with my siblings.” That seems to get his attention. Simon adores kids.

“How many siblings do you have? Why haven’t I met any of them?”

I want to laugh at how earnest he is, I’ve completely fallen for this loon.

“I have four step-siblings, three sisters and a brother. They’re all too young to come to court, but I’m sure my step-mother would be delighted to have you over for dinner to meet them,” I tease. I don’t say anything about my father, his distaste shouldn’t ruin this conversation.

“Tell me about them,” he demands, and so I do. I tell him about Mordelia and her current fascination with all things dead, and how she wants to start rot pots every time she sees any roadkill. He thinks it’s gross, but then decides that just means she’s clever, if she’s interested in things like that. I tell him about the twins, and how Fiona has been trying to get them to pose as the other to confuse us, and he makes the Harry Potter reference before I get the chance to. (“I was going to say that!” “Well, you didn’t!” He sticks his tongue out at me.) I tell him about my baby brother, who cried for almost two weeks straight when his first tooth came in, but after that went back to being one of the most cheerful babies I’ve ever met. As I steer him towards a willow tree on the edge of the lake he asks me if I ever play my violin for my siblings (“You know, to help them fall asleep and stuff.”) and my heart is so full I think it might burst.

We spread out the blankets under the tree, and once we’re settled down, me sitting cross-legged and Simon leaning back against the trunk of the tree, I finally turn the conversation back towards him.

“What do you like to do in your free time? I’ve told you all about my siblings, tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He just shrugs, as if he doesn’t have anything worth saying.

“Everyone already knows everything about me, I’m in the news all the time.” He looks so dejected at that, like it’s his own personal fault he doesn’t have siblings, or like he wanted to dominate our nation’s news.

“That is true, you are in the news a lot. The entire country is acutely aware of your fondness for scones, and who could possibly forget the time you went out to eat?” I roll my eyes. “What do you like to do outside of the public eye? What did you do before you came here?”

For a moment I worry that I’ve gone too far, his shoulders tense up and he refuses to make eye contact. I know asking about his life before Watford is tricky, but I thought that maybe he would have at least one fond memory to share. But then he shrugs again, as if trying to get rid of the tension, and says, “I like sword fighting.”

I can’t help it, I laugh.

“You really are just some fairy tale prince, aren’t you? With your ridiculous name, your blue eyes, and now _sword fighting_? The cheesy Christmas movie based off your life can’t be far behind.”

He’s blushing, but he doesn’t seem offended. He almost seems pleased, like he wants to preen under the attention instead of running from it for once.

“I’m good at sword fighting. It was the first thing I picked up when I got here, everyone kept telling me I needed a ‘healthy outlet for my energy’,” (he even does the air quotes and looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes) “and so after my hand healed from when I punched a wall, Prime Minister Bunce hired me a fencing instructor.” He looks embarrassed to have admitted that he punched a wall, but frankly I’m shocked that seems to be the worst of it. (Also, I’m ridiculously attracted to him, and he looks extremely fit when he’s angry, so imagining that incident does nothing to deter me.) It doesn’t sound like he’s had the best upbringing, and I can imagine how frustrating his first few months in Watford must have been, trying to fit in with everyone and live up to an entire nation’s expectations.

“I’ve never really done any fencing. Father hired someone to teach me when I was younger, but I tripped over my foil during my first lesson and sprained my wrist, and then I refused to ever try again.” That is not one of my proudest moments, but Simon seems like he’s willing to be open with me, so I can try to do the same for him.

He just laughs. “Yeah, I can see you doing that. You should give it another try sometime though, it’s fun! And I’m sure you’d be good at it, it’s loads better than archery and you’re super good at that.”

I know that I’m good at archery, but this is the first time Simon has ever complimented me, and I don’t know what to say. “Thank you. You picked it up pretty quickly too.”

I’m rewarded with another dazzling smile. One of his teeth is slightly crooked, right next to his canine, and for some reason that offset tooth makes his smile seem more genuine than most people’s smiles are. Or maybe that’s just him.

“Well, I did have a pretty good tutor who helped me figure it out.” He pushes his foot against my leg. “I also have really strong fingers, one of the care homes I was in had a thumb wrestling tournament each week, and I got pretty good. It was silly, but it kept us from fighting.”

“You know, Snow, Watford has been at peace for seventy three years. It seems like all you want to do is fight, are you going to be able to keep that record going?” I’m teasing, and I smile when we make eye contact so that he knows it.

“Penny says that kings aren’t supposed to hope for wars to break out, but I think I’ll still have to fight a bit as a king. And I’ll probably get in trouble for it less. I’ll fight your father over stuff in Parliament, for example.”

“Oh really? And what about the rest of the time? What will you do when you get tired of fighting with the government? Are you going to hold your own thumb wrestling tournaments?”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I am so far out of my depth that all I can do is go along with whatever he says (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway).

“Maybe I will. You can be my first competitor.” And with that he grabs my hand, curls It together with his own, and starts chanting, “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!”

We’re both laughing as we try to pin down the other’s thumb, but after a little while we fall quiet.

Simon breaks the silence.

“I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I couldn’t back in America, and now I feel like I’m not allowed to do that yet. I feel like I have to show I’m responsible enough first.”

“Isn’t that a bit backwards? Don’t people usually allow children to start with a goldfish, and then work their way up to a country, instead of vice-versa?”

He smiles, but just shrugs.

“I dunno, probably. What about you?”

“Do I want any pets?”

“No, I mean, that was something I haven’t told anyone else before. A secret. So, what about you?”

“You want me to tell you a secret?” I can’t believe what he’s saying, it’s like we’re at a slumber party, except for the fact that he’s holding my hand and trying to trap my thumb under his while my heart beats out of control.

“All right, I suppose… I have a massive sweet tooth. I take too many sugars in my tea, and I get whipped cream on my coffees.”

He smiles. “One of my teeth is fake. It got knocked out when I was younger, and we thought a new one would grow in in its place, but I guess I’d already lost that one, because I had to get a fake molar to fill the hole when I got here. They didn’t want the prince to have a missing tooth. And they wouldn’t let me get a gold one.” He wrinkles up his nose and it takes every once of willpower I have to not kiss him on the spot.

My turn.

“I’ve never kissed anyone.”

He looks skeptical.

“Is that a secret, or a fact?”

“Excuse me?” I have no clue what he’s getting at.

“If people know that you haven’t dated anyone, then that counts as a fact, not as a secret. A secret is something no one knows.”

I don’t point out that his last secret was clearly not all that secret, if those are his parameters. Instead, I decide to be brave.

“The secret is… I want to.”

My eyes meet his and I know he understands what I mean. His thumb stops moving and I trap it under my own, and when he smiles and bites his lower lip I start to lean in. I’m going to kiss him, I’m going to do it.

**Simon**

I’m going to kiss him.

**Baz**

Then _he_ kisses _me_.

**Simon**

When Penny told me Baz was at my window, I had no idea the evening would end up like this. I never even considered if I liked him or not, since that wasn’t part of the plan. I guess I must have subconsciously considered it though, because all of a sudden I find myself running through a list in my head of things I’ve wanted to do and checking off boxes – his hair is even softer than I imagined it to be, as I thread my fingers through it, and his fingertips shock me by being calloused instead of smooth, but I realize that makes sense if he plays the violin. I’m sure that kissing Baz will end up creating a lot of problems for me in the very near future, but I push all those concerns out of my head and instead just let myself feel like I’m finally solving something.

**Baz**

I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe anything, I can barely even think. Every press of his lips is driving every thought out of my head, and I’ve never felt so alive and so sure of myself. He kisses me until my mouth is sore, he holds himself above me and makes me reach for him and I do, and I’d do it again and again and again. We kiss until we’re barely avoiding yawning into each other’s mouths, and then he pulls one of the blankets over us, puts his head on my chest, and intertwines the fingers of my left hand with his right while I put my other arm around his waist. I press a kiss into his curls and feel him smile against my chest before I fall asleep.

When I wake up the next morning the first thing I realize is that I am extremely uncomfortable. There is a stick digging into my back, and I can feel something hard behind my head. My nose is also very cold, and I think for a moment it’s the cold that woke me up, before I realize that it was Simon who woke me up instead. He’s curled into my chest and side, keeping me warm wherever our bodies touch, and he’s started to wiggle a bit as he wakes up.

“Good morning,” I say, still somewhat groggy. I press a kiss to his hair, just because I can.

He arches his back and lifts his hands in a lazy little stretch, then looks up and smiles sleepily at me.

“Good morning. We stayed out all night.”

“Yes, we did,” I reply.

Apparently he finds that hilarious, since he starts laughing.

“We stayed out all night!” he repeats, and I start laughing too, trying to cover my mouth in case I have morning breath.

Finally he collapses back down onto my chest, and I run my fingers through his curls as he draws lazy circles on my stomach. After a little while something catches his eye across the lake, and he pokes me to get my attention.

“Look, there’s someone out on the lake.”

I shrug it off. “It’s probably just a fisherman.”

Simon’s whole demeanor changes in a second.

“With a video camera?”

“What?” Great, now I’m as inarticulate as Snow.

“Oh, you are really low. You know, it’s really a shame you didn’t get juicier stuff last night, you jerk!” He throws the wadded up blanket at me as he stalks away.

“Simon, I swear, I had nothing to do with this! That’s not my boat!” He marches back and grabs the blanket out of my hands, because apparently he doesn’t want me to have anything right now, not even warmth.

My call of, “But that is my blanket!” is lost as he stalks off again, along with any progress we had made.


	10. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I can’t be honest with the man I’ll have to call ‘husband’ in less than 24 hours, who can I be honest with?"

**Penny**

I wake up to a knock on the door and my mother’s voice as she enters the room.

“Simon, I know that things have been hectic lately, but I’m so proud of how well you’ve been handling everything and I thought that today you might like to – Penelope?!”

Clearly mum isn’t aware that Simon suck out with Baz last night and I fell asleep in his bed waiting for him to return. She doesn’t remain in the dark for very long though, because Simon comes running into the room almost immediately, looking disheveled and panicked with one hand pulling at his curls.

Before I can ask him anything about what happened, Ms. Possibelf hurries into the room too.

“Your Highness, I’m so sorry, but you need to turn on the news.”

Mum snatches up the remote and immediately the TV is alight with footage taken at the edge of a lake, showing a couple curled up under some blankets and shadowed by a tree. Unfortunately, the camera zooms in at the same moment the couple sits up, and the host of the morning show unnecessarily points out to viewers that yes, that is indeed Prince Simon with Lord Hampshire, and they appear to have spent the night together. We all remain frozen until the same chirpy voice asks her viewers if they think the royal wedding is still on, and mum finally shuts off the TV.

“Prime Minister Bunce, please, I can explain!” Simon is beet red and looks on the verge of tears. Mum just holds up a hand to stop him.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Her question seems to throw him for a loop. He was clearly ready to be scolded, but mum’s good like that. She’ll yell at you when you’ve done something wrong, like hitting your sister or lying to her, but when you’re upset she’ll let you calm down before she makes you talk through your bad choices. I know that Simon’s not my brother, but Mum has stepped into the role of parent for him every now and then, and it’s clear he needs people on his side this morning, so I’m not surprised she’s being his mum too.

“Simon, just breathe, it’s going to be okay. Are you alright?” In between big gulps of air he manages to nod his head. “Good. Simon, I want you to calm down, but I need to know – do we still have a wedding?”

Simon’s lower lip trembles before he nods once again, and then the tears start to fall. Mum rubs his back, and I climb off of the bed and wrap him up in a hug. Luckily, Mum knows that I can handle Simon, so she leaves with Ms. Possibelf following close behind, and Simon keeps sobbing into my shirt. Eventually we move to sit down on the bed and Simon’s breaths start to even out. His tears have dried up, and after a few minutes he looks up at me, clearly begging for help.

“What happened, Si?” I know he probably doesn’t want to recount whatever happened, but I have a strong suspicion I know anyway.

“I- He- We- I don’t- Penny, I don’t know what to do.” He hiccups a little and looks so miserable I can’t stand it. I rub my hand along his arm and try to make my voice sound comforting.

“It’ll be alright Si, don’t worry. We can fix it.”

He takes a shaky breath before steeling himself and looking up. His expression is one I haven’t seen in a while, but one that I used to see all the time when he first arrived in Watford; he’s ready for battle.

**Simon**

“I have to talk to Agatha.”

That’s the only thing I said to Penny before locking myself in the bathroom to shower and pull myself together. Pen’s smart, I think she probably knew what was going on before I did, but this is still embarrassing. I haven’t even had time to sort through how I feel about any of this, I was just acting on impulse last night, but now everyone in Watford is going to be dissecting my life over breakfast. I shower as quickly as I can, scrubbing my face and brushing my teeth and making sure all traces of last night are gone before I throw on an outfit I know Agatha has said that she likes and heading out to meet her.

I have to explain to her, no, I have to _apologize_ to her, and then I have to beg her not to leave me. I have to find out if she’s still willing to marry me tomorrow, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to her. When I finally see her she looks as lovely as ever, but my heart just sinks when we make eye contact. She looks stressed, her face is a but pinched, but she still looks put together and like the sort of girl a prince should be marrying. I’m hit by another wave of guilt.

**Agatha**

He starts off by apologizing before he even reaches me, but the funny thing is that I don’t even think I need the apology. What he did wasn’t right, but I don’t feel hurt by it. He may have hurt my reputation, but I just can’t find it in me to care. If anything, I’m a little bit jealous. Simon had an impulsive evening. He did something without it being planned in advance for him, and he did something that no one would have expected. I’m assuming he had fun, and I’m jealous of even that momentary bit of freedom. I know I can’t complain. I’m literally marrying a prince, I’m going to be a queen in just a few days, but I don’t feel any excitement when I think about my future. I’ll marry Simon and spend the rest of my life living by a schedule, following half a step behind him, and ensuring that Watford has plenty of blond-haired, blue-eyed heirs to the throne. Simon will be nice to me, and he’ll hold my hand, and dance with me at state dinners, and he’ll try to like the horse shows we’ll go to. My mother will love every moment that she’ll get to spend at the palace, and my father will be delighted with the generous donations that will be made to his hospital. And for me, I’ll be bored of the never-ending events, I’ll be lonely in rooms that are full of people, and I’ll spend my entire life by my husband’s side, wondering if I’ll ever find what I’m truly looking for. None of that is Simon’s fault, not really. He couldn’t change it if he wanted to.

“Aggie, I’m- I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.” He looks so miserable and contrite standing in front of me, like a little puppy dog that’s being scolded.

“It’s alright Simon. I mean, obviously things could be better, but I’m not mad at you. I understand.”

His head is cocked to the side slightly, and his resemblance to a golden retriever gets even stronger.

“Really, Simon, I get it. So you did something impulsively, you acted without thinking, it’s fine. If you don’t make a habit of it we’ll be alright.” I know what is expected of me, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I’ll marry him and forgive him all his past offenses, but I won’t be abandoned, or cheated on, or lied to. I want him to be happy, but not at the sake of my own happiness, as doomed as it seems to be. I can’t free both of us from this arrangement, so I’ll tie us each to the mast; we’ll make it past the Sirens, and if the boat sinks then we’ll go down with it.

He’s the picture of contrition. “I won’t Ags, I promise! I really am sorry, I wasn’t thinking at all, I just- I-“ He trails off and huffs in frustration, at himself or his lack of words I can’t say. “Will you still marry me?” His plain blue eyes are wide and round, all teary and imploring. I want to look away, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. I can almost feel my mother’s hand on my back, pushing me forwards to the altar.

“Of course I’ll still marry you, Si. I’ll be at the church waiting for you tomorrow.”

He looks like I’ve taken the world off of his shoulders, he smiles in relief and flails his hands for a moment before taking mine.

“Thank you, Agatha, really. I’m so sorry, but I promise, I’ll be the sort of husband you deserve.” He’s earnest, and it breaks my heart.

“Simon, I-“

“Can I kiss you?” I don’t know why he’s asking, I don’t know why he wants to. We haven’t kissed much at all, just chaste pecks here and there, and this certainly doesn’t seem like a very romantic moment. I say yes anyway though, I don’t think that saying no would be appropriate right now.

“Alright.” He takes my face in his hands and presses his lips to mine. It’s not gentle, it’s not romantic, it’s not pleasant. When he pulls back after a few seconds, I can tell that he agrees. He looks disappointed, and I’m willing to bet it’s because he has something better to compare it to.

“Simon, I. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you were hoping for, but there was no spark. I didn’t feel anything, and I know you wanted me to.” We’re getting married tomorrow, if I can’t be honest with the man I’ll have to call ‘husband’ in less than 24 hours, who can I be honest with?

Instead of looking upset, he actually looks relieved. “Oh thank goodness. I didn’t feel anything either. I wanted to! But, there just wasn’t… yeah.” We stand in silence for a few seconds, smiling awkwardly at what must be one of the worst inside jokes ever, before he voices the question we’re both thinking. “What do we do now?”

“We do the same thing that we’ve been planning to do all along. Tomorrow we’ll go to the church, you’ll take me to be your wife, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives as king and queen. We’ll just do it… as friends? Is that okay? No pressure, no expectations between the two of us?” This might be the first time I’ve been nervous in our entire relationship. I’m not exactly suggesting a happily ever after, I’m just trying to salvage whatever we can right now. Simon doesn’t seem to mind though.

“That sounds good. If we fall in love eventually, that’s great. But, if we don’t, well.”

“If we don’t we’ll still be monarchs, and we’ll still be able to help the people of Watford.”

“That’s what’s most important anyway, isn’t it? Being a good leader means making sacrifices sometimes. It’ll be okay.” He pulls me in for a hug, and it feels like the most genuine expression of love in our relationship so far. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this Aggie.”

Oh, Simon. “I’m sorry too.”


	11. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everyone deserves the chance to be happy, right?"

**Baz**

The greatest morning of my life is followed up immediately by the worst morning of my life. Yesterday I woke up with Simon in my arms, where he’d fallen asleep after kissing me until my lips went numb. Today I woke up alone in my bed, filled with the knowledge that in just a few short of hours the love of my life would be married to someone else. I had one perfect evening, and now I’ll spend the rest of my existence remembering in excruciating detail exactly what I’ll be missing.

I drag myself out of bed and start to get ready, but before I slick back my hair and put on my jacket, I change my mind. I don’t want to see Simon Snow Salisbury get married off to someone else, and nothing will change that. I can spend the entire day loafing around the house in my green silk suit and no one will complain that I look too dower for a wedding.

When Fiona and my father come into the living room I’m playing with matches. I want to be destructive, but I don’t want to create more work for Vera, so I’m simply lighting the matches from a matchbox I found, one by one, and watching each one burn down as low as it can before singeing my fingers, then dropping it in a bowl and lighting the next one.

“Are you all ready to go? Where’s your jacket?” my father asks.

“I’m not going. I don’t feel like being there. I certainly don’t want to support anyone there.” That’s a lie, I would support Simon in almost anything, anything except this.

My father huffs and turns to go, but Fiona has to have the last word. “Suit yourself boy-o.” She looks far too sympathetic and understanding. It’s a relief when her face twists up into a mischievous grin. “Me, I’m going to go and enjoy the open bar. This is a disaster in the making, I wouldn’t miss a moment of it.”

I flick another match into the bowl, and the door slams behind them. I’m not going to go into a full-on strop, but I do toss the bowl on the table and throw myself back into the couch, closing my eyes and shutting out the world.

Unfortunately, my plan to lose consciousness is foiled a few minutes later, after I’ve heard the familiar sound of Fiona’s car pulling too fast out of the drive, by Vera, trying to get my attention.

“Master Pitch. Master Pitch. Basil!”

I’ve known Vera ever since I was born, and I don’t want to be rude to her, but I can’t stand the thought of talking to anyone right now.

“What is it, Vera?”

“It’s your father. I shouldn’t say Basil, but it was him who set you up with those cameras. He was having Prince Simon followed.”

“My father? Then why did he allow that footage to be shown? I would have thought he would have done everything in his power to make sure our family wasn’t exposed in any unfavorable light.” My father won’t even acknowledge the things he finds _unfavorable_ in our family, I’m certain he wouldn’t have allowed those tapes to be aired if he truly was behind it.

“I heard him on the phone. He was furious. The second he saw the news, he called the station. He’s been threatening to sue them for breach of contract, slander, defamation, all of it.”

My mind is reeling. I thought that Simon was simply upset to be caught at all. I know he initially believed that I was behind the camera, or that my family was, but I assumed he would eventually realize that was ridiculous. Now, though, all I know is that I need to talk to him.

“Vera, are you absolutely sure?” I’m already sitting up and smoothing my trousers, and Vera, bless her, has my jacket at the ready.

“I’m sure, Basil. I’m sorry. You were set up.”

That’s all I need to hear. I’m running out the door and unlocking the Jag before I even realize that my hair is still falling loose to my shoulders, and by the time I see myself in the rearview mirror, it’s too late to go back and fix it.

**Simon**

I can’t believe how nice the weather is today. It’s exactly like it was on Independence Day for the parade, except I got to enjoy it then. I got to sit on the back of a convertible, I got to feel the breeze and see the clear blue sky, and after a bit I got to leave the car and walk the rest of the route. Today, though, I’m locked inside a car with tinted windows. The air conditioner is on, but it still feels stuffy, and although I know there are people crowding the streets as we approach the church, I can’t make eye contact with any of them.

Even once the car stops and I’m ushered into the giant church with its tall ceilings, the feeling of claustrophobia persists. I keep trying to tell myself that everything will be fine. I’ll marry Agatha, and we’ll be good friends for the rest of our lives. It’ll be fine. Right now it doesn’t feel that way though, and by the time Penny is able to break away from the other bridesmaids to see me, I’m on the verge of panicking again.

She hugs me immediately, and then holds me at arm’s length.

“You look lovely, Simon. How are you feeling?”

“’m alright Pen. You look nice too.”

She scoffs. She hates pink, but she had to wear the same dress as all the other bridesmaids. Agatha was nice enough to let her be in the wedding party, even though Penny is more my friend than her’s, so Penny couldn’t argue about the clothes.

“Simon, listen, I have to tell you something.” Her voice is urgent, and all the panic I was trying to suppress comes back in full force.

“What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

“Baz didn’t set you up at the lake.”

“What?” My brain blinked out after hearing her say ‘Baz’, everything else was too hard to hear through the buzzing in my ears and the fuzziness of worry.

“Baz didn’t set you up. It was his father! Malcolm Grimm sent the cameras to watch you, Baz didn’t know anything about it, he was telling the truth.” After talking to Agatha I told Penny everything, cheeks burning from the shame of betrayal the entire time. But if what she’s saying is true…

“How do you know?” I can’t be mislead again, I need to know I can trust this.

“His housekeeper. She overheard a phone call between Mr. Grimm and someone from the news station, and she called Ms. Possibelf to try and get the message to you.” I want to believe her so badly, but I can’t think about any of this right now. I’m about to marry Agatha, I can’t contemplate anything different. “Simon, Baz didn’t know.”

“Penny, I-“ The rest of my sentence is choked off, I couldn’t get the words out even if I knew what I wanted to say. I can’t do this now.

“I’m sorry Simon.” Penny understands. She straightens my tie for me and gives me one last hug. “Good luck.”

I just stand there, in a side room of the church, for once entirely alone, trying not to think of anything at all, until the door opens and Gareth pokes his head in.

“She’s ready for you. Break a leg.”

I can hear the organ music, and the quiet rustle of the most important people in Watford shifting around in their seats, and when I step into the church and make my way to the space where the center aisle meets the altar I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. After a moment the bridesmaids start walking down the aisle, and Penny smiles at me as she takes her place of the opposite side of the room, and I think she’s trying to lend me strength through her expression. Then the music changes, and everyone stands up. Agatha appears between the double doors, and she looks ethereal. She’s wearing a white gown that seems to flow around her, with lace blurring the edges where it touches her skin and meets the ground. Her hair has been left down, butter-blonde almost down to her waist, but a few strands have been pulled up to make a braided crown over the top of her head, and she looks like a goddess. Even under the veil I can tell that she’s lovely, but her relaxed smile and calm presence don’t do anything to settle my nerves. She shouldn’t have to look like this for me. She shouldn’t have to smile and pretend like this is something that she wants when she knows we’re about to be trapped forever. We should be able to do what we want, and every step she takes down the aisle is a step further from that freedom to choose.

I finally can’t take it anymore. She’s only a few yards away when I give in to the panic, to the red and black splotches clouding my vision, and I run back out the side door.

**Agatha**

I can’t say I’m entirely surprised Simon bolted. He looked horrible from the moment I saw him. I suppose that I should feel embarrassed or upset right now, but all I can think is _Can you say that you’ve been left at the altar if you never even make it to the altar?_

**Simon**

I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel bad about leaving Agatha standing there, surrounded by all those people, but I think I would have felt worse if I had let the wedding go on. I’m back in the room I started in, trying to breathe normally and calm down enough to figure out what I’m supposed to do from here. When the door opens I spin around to see Prime Minister Bunce, and try to get my apologies out before she can say anything.

“I’m so sorry, I just need a minute, I’m sorry, I’ll-“

“Are you alright Simon? It’s okay.” Prime Minister Bunce is a nice woman, but she’s usually far more business-like. Yet in the last two days she’s treated me more like one of her own children, and I’m not sure how to react. I don’t know how to be coddled, I don’t know how to let others help me fix my problems, and while I want her to help me I also need her to know that I don’t know if she can.

She sits down on one of the folding chairs that was left open and turns to me.

“Your mother was one of my best friends. We met in school, and even though my family didn’t have land or titles, she still went out of her way to talk to me, and to befriend me. She was fiercely loyal, and didn’t hesitate to stand up for the people she loved and the causes she believed in. I knew from the time we were twelve that she would make a great queen. But when we got older I felt like life had been so unfair to her. Obviously no one else seemed to think that, because she was royalty, and she had more money and land than anyone could know what to do with, but she still let her loyalties drive everything she did. She gave to the charities she believed in, she supported her friends in any way she could, and above all, she was ready to do whatever her country required of her. When she was eighteen she was told that it was her duty to marry, and to marry well. The marriage wasn’t arranged, not quite, but she didn’t have many choices.

“Your mother chose duty to her country over love, but Simon, she wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to make the same choice. She loved you far more than anything, or anyone else, even before you were born, and I know that she would have given up everything, her wealth, her power, the crown itself, if she thought that would make things easier for you. She would have wanted to be here with you, to tell you how handsome you look on your wedding day, and she would have wanted to see you marry the love of your life.”

I don’t know what to say. No one has ever talked about my mother like that, like a real person instead of a deceased queen, and I simultaneously want Penelope’s mum to tell me every single story she knows about what my mum was like, yet I also want her to stay silent so that I can work out what to do. I know there will be time for more stories later though, so I try to center myself for a moment as I make my choice. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and raise my head.

“Thank you. I’m ready now.”

I walk back into the church a few steps behind Prime Minister Bunce, giving the organist enough time to start playing again. Agatha is now waiting for me at the altar, talking with Minty, her maid of honor. As I make my way towards her and everyone steps back into place the music stops, and I grab her hand before she can turn to the priest.

“Agatha, wait. Everyone deserves the chance to be happy, right? Including us?”

She understands me immediately, and relief floods her face.

“Thank you.” Then, as quickly as the relief came, she looks horrified. “I have to tell Mummy!”

I want to be sympathetic, but, “I have to tell everyone else.”

She squeezes my hand, and we both whisper, “Good luck!” before she walks over to join her parents in the front row, and I clear my throat as I try to figure out what to say.

“Erm, welcome. Um, a few minutes ago I realized that the only reason I was getting married was because of a law, and that didn’t seem like a good enough reason, so, ah, I won’t be getting married today.” The already restless congregation starts openly whispering, and I try to keep calm, just focusing on getting the right words out without tripping over them. “My mother married before assuming the throne, yet I am confident that she didn’t require a spouse to be a good queen. She was a good queen in spite of her husband, not because of him, and I don’t see any reason why we should insist upon continuing to uphold a law that is failing the people you profess to care about. Think about your children, would you ask any of them to do what you’ve asked of me, or of Agatha?

“I believe that I will be a good king. I may not have known Watford for very long, but in the last few years I have grown to love the people in this nation, and I love Watford. Do you think I would be up here dressed like this if I didn’t? I am ready to take my place as your king, and I plan to do it without a wife.”

My palms are sweating. Someone in the back yells, “Viva Simon!” and I think that everything might be okay, but then Malcolm Grimm stands up.

“Every time this young man opens his mouth, he demonstrates a contempt for the customs here in Watford. The law clearly states that Prince Simon must be married before he can take the throne. Fortunately, there is another heir.”

**Baz**

I’ve heard enough, it’s time for a dramatic entrance. _Open Sesame_ , I think to myself as I fling the double doors open on my own and start strolling down the aisle.

“No, there is not. I decline. I refuse to be king.” I’m willing my voice to remain steady. I’m defying my father and my bloodline in front of the most powerful families in the nation, and I’m doing it in front of the man I love. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is Prince Simon who should have the crown. He is bright and he is caring. But more importantly he has a vision, one that will take Watford forward, and if the Parliament were astute, they would name him king. Listen to him, he will lead us through the 21st century. And besides,” I can’t help adding, “just think how handsome he’ll look on a postage stamp.”

**Simon**

Malcolm Grimm looks apoplectic. I think he might actually explode, there’s a vein in his forehead that looks dangerously close to rupturing, and I’ve never seen him show this much expression, ever. Baz’s Aunt Fiona also looks somewhat displeased, but at the same time she doesn’t look disappointed. In fact, she almost looks proud of Baz. Maybe she just wants the best for her nephew, and she’s willing to support him if he says that he doesn’t want to be king. She might not want to support me, but at least she stands by him.

Baz, though. Well, he looks calm. I guess he always looks calm, he has the good breeding and years of training to allow him to keep his composure through every situation, but right now he just looks calm, not falsely calm and cold or cruel. In fact, with the way he’s looking at me, his eyes boring into mine, he looks, well, _loving_.

Before I can say anything to him though, before I can even start to figure out what he’s thinking, or what I’m thinking for that matter, he saves me from embarrassing myself even more in front of the hundreds of wedding guests by sweeping away, leaving through the double doors, pursued by his father who is still yelling at him to come back and do his duty.

**Baz**

“Basilton! Basilton, come back at once! I will not have you giving all of this up, just for a boy!”

My father chases me out of the church, and in any other situation I would turn and mock him for how he’s allowed himself to come undone. But the situation is too severe for that, so I simply pause before getting in the Jaguar and dismiss him.

“Father. Enough. We’re finished.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, close the door to shut out his yelling, turn the key in the ignition, and drive away.

**Simon**

I don’t know what to do. I need to do something, and I need to do it now because I’m surrounded by confused nobles who are only going to be distracted by the scene Baz caused for a few more moments.

Prime Minister Bunce hands me a glass of water and leans in to whisper under her breath, “Make a motion.”

At first I’m confused, I have no clue what she wants me to do. But then I realize. I take a deep breath and look out at all the guests, finding the members of Parliament scattered through the church.

“I would like to make a motion.” Everyone stills, and the church is perfectly silent. “I move to abolish the marriage law as it applies to all current and future monarchs of Watford.”

Prime Minister Bunce supports me immediately. “Does anyone second the motion?”

The only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. I stare the crowd down as if they’re a dragon I need to slay, before remembering that Penelope once told me my “street thug” expressions could only be useful in the government if I softened them a little. I school my face into something that’s hopefully a little more acceptable to the crowd, and a few seconds later I hear the rustle of fabric.

Lord Cunningham, the only one who supported me when I presented my plans for the orphanage (I remember his name now!) stands up and I hold my breath.

“I second the motion.”

Without pause, Prime Minister Bunce calls for a vote.

“All those in favor of abolishing the marriage law, Law 619, say aye.”

For one terrifying moment no one speaks, and I think that I’m about to be sent back out to live on the streets. But then, Mr. Blackwood stands up. He’s followed by Ms. Granger, and she’s followed by someone who I think is either Mr. Johnson or Mr. Jackson. One by one, the members of Parliament start to stand up and say _aye_ , until it’s clear we have a majority vote.

I can barely breathe over my relief, and I’m trying to keep my composure, but I know I’m smiling too big to look composed right now, and I don’t really care.

Prime Minister Bunce makes the announcement, “The ayes have it,” and then I turn around when I hear Penny whoop, and laugh when she doesn’t look at all sorry for being so undignified.

I turn back to address the people one last time.

“I’m really sorry to have dragged you all out here for a vote instead of a wedding, but I know that Chef Pritchard and everyone on her culinary team has pulled out all the stops for this afternoon, so you’re all welcome to join me for a feast if you want!”

**Baz**

I spend an entire day avoiding my house. I go to a café and buy a coffee with extra sugar and whipped cream, and while I’m there I let everyone fill me in on what happened after I left the wedding. I forgot the ceremony was being broadcast live throughout Watford, but that’s for the best really. I may have very publicly overplayed my hand, but Simon also very publicly didn’t get married, so I’m not too upset. I buy a few more coffees and a pastry and stay into the early evening to watch the feed of the ceremonial flaming arrow being shot through the coronation ring.

Simon looks so much calmer when he appears on the grainy television screen, and my heart trips over itself when the camera looks into his exquisite, extraordinary blue eyes, beautiful even through the static of the satellite. For a moment I worry that his posture is off, but then he takes a deep breath and lowers his elbow, touches his thumb to his mouth, and lets the arrow fly right into the ring.

I leave the café when the newscasters start talking about the plans for tomorrow’s coronation, and spend a few hours just driving around, until I’m sure my father is asleep and I can return home. I didn’t count on Fiona still being awake though, and that was a grave oversight. When I walk in the door, taking care to avoid the squeaky second step, she’s sitting at the table with one single lamp lit. She would be the picture of a disappointed parent waiting up to reprimand their child for breaking curfew if she wasn’t wearing an old band t-shirt and her Doc Martens, and if she wasn’t drinking whiskey.

“Alright, boyo?” She’s not soft, or angry, or anything else really, she’s just there. Greeting me as if nothing happened today.

“Fine, thanks. And you?” I ask, just as casual as her.

She ignores me for a moment, then pours another whiskey and motions me over. “C’mere Basilton.”

I walk over to the table and she stands up to meet me. In a moment completely out of character for Fiona, she pulls me in by my shoulders for a hug and holds me there. “I’m proud of you, boy-o, and your mother would be too.” Then she pulls away, and hands me the other glass of whiskey. “Now here, drink up, and don’t think about talking to your father for a while unless you absolutely have to.”

I clink my glass against hers. “Thanks, Fi.”


	12. The Audience With The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My kitchen is out of chickens.”

**Simon**

In two hours, I will officially be a king. I’ll be crowned King of Watford, and the metaphorical training wheels will come off the bike. That’s still a little bit scary for me to think about, so I’m trying to only focus on what I’m supposed to do in one hour, when all that needs to happen is for me to show up to the right place at the right time to wait. I can do that. In the meantime, though, I’m waiting in the throne room. I’m looking around at all of the portraits on the walls and trying to imagine what it will be like to wear the same crown on my head while meeting with my subjects. At least I’ll be good at what happens in here. I like talking to all the people. I like _helping_ people. It’s just all the other stuff that I’m worried about.

When I hear the door to the interior hall open, I assume that it’s someone coming to tell me I’m needed for something earlier than expected. I don’t move from where I’m lounging on the throne, trying to enjoy a last moment of peace before everything changes.

“If I may be so bold, I would like an audience with your highness.”

Instead of one of the palace workers, Baz has slipped into the room from the door to the right of the dais, and he looks as soft as he did a few days ago, when we woke up under the branches of that tree beside the lake. His hair is framing his face, and he hasn’t put any product in it to slick it back today. He’s still formal in his well-tailored black slacks and a crisp button-down shirt with little sprigs of lavender embroidered all over the soft-looking purple fabric, but his eyes are already smiling.

I can’t think of a single thing to say, so I simply sit up straighter and motion for him to speak. Maybe I have gotten a little better at subconsciously being a royal. At any rate I remember what my next words are supposed to be as he moves to stand a respectable distance in front of the throne.

“What is your dilemma, sir?”

He quirks an eyebrow up. “You are, in fact.”

Then he gets down on one knee, and for one wild moment I think he’s about to pull out a ring and propose to me, right here in the throne room, the morning of my coronation, and the day after my failed wedding to Agatha. The thought is only in my head for a second before I realize that there’s absolutely no way he would do anything quite so rash or impulsive right here and right now, but that second is enough to make me realize that I’m not panicking like I should be at a thought such as that. He’s just kneeling because he’s doing what’s considered proper when addressing a member of the royal family in the throne room. He’s not kneeling because he’s in love with me.

“I am in love with the king-to-be, and I am inquiring if he loves me too.”

Maybe he is in love with me.

“Do you have a chicken for my table?” I blurt it out before I can think of anything else. I wish I could immediately take back the words, but instead of scowling he just chuckles a bit and gives me the tiniest little smile.

“Ah, no. My kitchen is out of chickens.”

His face is so open right now, his emotions more exposed than they ever have been and suddenly I can’t stand being so far away. Kings aren’t supposed to run in the throne room, but I won’t be a king for a few more hours still, and I don’t see the sense in holding back right now. I push myself out of the throne.

“Oh, well. In that case…” I run to him and practically leap into his arms, but he’s ready for that and stands up to meet me. I tilt my face up towards his and for a breath we just look at each other. His grey eyes are practically shining, and I think I may love him too.

“Snow,” he says, gazing back at me.

“You called me Simon before.”

“When?” He’s being difficult, just because he can be. Because he’s already got me.

“Yesterday. In the church. When I realized I loved you too.” The words are true as soon as I say them, I just hadn’t known.

_“Simon_ ,” he whispers, and I don’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence, or even to discover if he intended to say anything else, instead I cut him off by pressing our lips together.

We stand there for a little while, mouths moving slowly, and the only thought remaining in my mind is _Oh. This is what it’s supposed to be like_. But then my calves start to ache from pressing me up onto my toes, and I assume that his neck starts to get sore from bending to meet me, because he pulls away the slightest bit, flashes me the brightest smile I’ve ever seen, and then puts his arms around my waist and bends his knees to kiss me again and lift me up, only breaking us apart once he spins me around and we start giggling too much to continue kissing anymore.

_This is what it’s supposed to be like, and this is what I want it to be like. This is what I didn’t have with Agatha, why we couldn’t have a future together, but why I can maybe have one with Baz._


	13. Epilogue - The Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love every single thing about him, and now that I’ve got him I don’t intend to stop."

**Agatha**

Simon’s coronation goes off much more smoothly than our wedding, and by noon Watford once again has a king. I’m so happy for him, and even though Mum is a bit put out with me for walking away from the throne, I’m happy for me, too.

Of course, Simon does have his work cut out for him. After all, not only is he now the highest ranking person in our nation’s government, but he also has to find a way to stop getting all mushy any time he lays eyes on Lord Hampshire. Within a few weeks it’s an open secret that he and Baz are in a relationship, and I’m sure they’ll release a statement before the end of the month so that the media can officially report on the two of them. In the meantime though, I think they both need to work harder to keep their eyes from turning into cartoon hearts any time the other person is in the room. I’m still happy for them, just a little sick of the constant affectionate glances.

I won’t have to put up with the love-fest for too much longer though, because I’m going to America! Simon told me about some of the places he heard kids in his classes talk about visiting, and I haven’t been able to get California out of my head ever since. Minty and I are going to take a month and vacation at the beach, and although I haven’t told my parents yet, I’m thinking of applying for admission to some of the colleges there. I’m not sure what I want to study, but I think it might be good for me to take some time to sort out what I want my life to look like.

**Baz**

I couldn’t be happier. In forty-eight hours I experienced every single emotion in the entirety of the human spectrum, and then ended up snogging the King of Watford in the royal apartments for well over an hour after dinner. Since then, Simon and I have started officially dating, and trying to build up a proper relationship. He wants to do things normally, instead of trying to force anything like he did with Agatha. I’ve argued that since he didn’t pick me off of a slideshow we’re already off to a better start, but he still wants to do things in a very common way, so every few days we go out to a restaurant or a movie and have silly getting-to-know-you conversations before returning to the palace and wandering in the gardens or reclining in his apartments to talk about more serious things. (And to snog. We do an awful lot of kissing once we’re not in the public eye.)

I fall more in love with him every day, and always for the strangest reasons. Yesterday, for example, I was jokingly calling him the ‘Sun King’, after poetically comparing him to all the stars and especially the sun. He’d been kissing me in between sentences, but when I used the phrase ‘Sun King’ he pulled away and frowned.

“Like Louis XIV? The French one. Wasn’t he called the Sun King? Are you saying you want me to be like him? Didn’t he say something like, ‘ _L’état c’est moi_ ’?”

His pronunciation was atrocious, but I had to kiss him anyway. This beautiful disaster has been studying world history, politics, foreign policy, and attempting to learn the basics of both French and Italian, and I love him so much for it. I can’t explain why, but seeing how much he’s overcome, and how much he’s done all by himself just makes him all the more irresistible to me.

I love every single thing about him, and now that I’ve got him I don’t intend to stop.

**Penny**

I’m so proud of Simon. He’s taken to being a king much more readily than any of us expected, and he’s even doing well with the very things he told me scared him most. He’s faced down Malcolm Grimm in Parliament, and he’s gotten the funding to start three new orphanages, as well as a program to benefit critically ill children in the hospitals. In just six months he’s gone from the boy on the cover of the tabloids who stopped his own wedding, to the king being studied in modern government classes for his approach to children’s aid. I can’t wait until I can stand for a seat in Parliament, I want to be able to work with him just like my mum does. It would be even better to be Prime Minister one day, but I’m still young, and Mum says I don’t have to steal her job from her just yet. I’ll give her a few more years at least.

**Simon**

I’m so happy. There are a lot of intimidating parts of being king, but I’m actually not as bad at it as everyone thought I would be. Over the last two years I’ve really started to like being a monarch. I’ve helped hundreds of kids find loving homes, I’ve been able to donate to hospitals in need, and I’ve started some agricultural programs that I’m really excited about – I even milked a cow myself!

Of course, a lot of my happiness comes from the people around me. I’m good at being a king because I have people like Prime Minister Bunce to work with, and I have Penny to bounce ideas off of. Of course, once she takes her seat in Parliament this June we’ll be working together in a slightly different capacity, but I think that will be even better. Personally, I can’t wait to see her tear down Baz’s dad. (She and Baz have been arguing politics ever since my coronation, and I like to think they keep me fairly even-keeled.)

Baz is definitely the person who makes me the happiest though. We’ve been together for two years now, and I haven’t regretted my decision to be with him for one moment of it. For all that he puts on a show of indifference and sneers at the world, he’s soft and sweet with me, and I now have hundreds of photographs of him smiling, as well as videos of him playing with his siblings and teasing me during their tea parties.

I haven’t doubted his love for one second. The only thing that has given me pause in our relationship is something he said in the church, right before walking out of that disastrous wedding. He said that he refused to be king, and I really hope he didn’t mean that, because we’re going out to dinner tonight, and I have a ring that’s been hiding in a black velvet box for the last three months that I intend to put to good use. I’m not too worried though. We’ve talked a lot since then, and I keep going back to one conversation in my head any time I get too worked up.

We’d been together for about three months when Baz and I finally felt brave enough to talk about how improbable our relationship was.

_“Why me?” he’d asked. “You could have had your pick of almost anyone in Watford, why did you choose me?”_

_I kept carding my hands through his hair while I thought about my answer. “Because you saw me when I was invisible.”_

_He snorted a laugh and turned his head a bit on my lap to look up at me better. “You were never invisible, Snow, you’re royalty.”_

_I tugged on a strand of his hair and he reached up to grab my hand. “I know, but I kind of felt invisible for a while. Everyone knew what I was doing twenty-four seven, sure, but no one was actually talking about how I was feeling or what I wanted. I felt like most people didn’t see me as a person, I was just a symbol of government that needed polishing or something.”_

_“You could still use some polishing,” Baz muttered, as he reached up to wipe something off of my face with his thumb. I stuck my tongue out at him, then leaned down to kiss him._

_“You didn’t treat me like that though. You treated me like a normal person. I definitely didn’t care for how rude you were at first,” another tug to his hair, he scrunches up his face at me, “but even then you saw me as someone other than a prince.”_

_Baz hooked one finger into my belt loop and gazed up at me so intensely I felt frozen in place._

_“Simon, I would love you whether you were royalty or just some ill-mannered person on the street. I have to admit though, I do prefer the current arrangement, seeing as how it comes with a palace and a much-improved wardrobe.”_

We’ve talked about the future a lot, and even though neither of us has come right out and mentioned marriage I know we’re on the same page. When we think of the future, we’re going to be together.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry that I didn’t put Ebb in this story! Since I mentioned her family in passing at the beginning as one of the families who was in line for the throne I didn’t know how to incorporate her without making everyone wonder why she didn’t get the crown.
> 
> Also, there is no actual logic or reason when it comes to the politics or government structure in this, I’m sorry. As a former Model UN kid I am deeply ashamed, but as someone who just wanted to write something cute and fluffy based off of a movie she saw when she was nine, I’m not sorry at all.


End file.
